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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.

William Wordsworth

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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Feels
Dower
Love
Transcendence
Transcendent
Greatness
Greater
Faith
Hope
Feel

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Yet tears to human suffering are due And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.
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In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .
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A tale in everything.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
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