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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
Hope
Feel
Feels
Dower
Love
Transcendence
Transcendent
Greatness
Greater
Faith
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
William Wordsworth
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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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
William Wordsworth
Stop thinking for once in your life!
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
William Wordsworth
