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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet

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
Became
Hand
Hands
Thing
Trumpet
Milton
Trumpets

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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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