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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

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
Live
Work
Life

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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To be young was very heaven!
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
William Wordsworth