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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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
Humans
Men
Musing
Life
Musings
Acceptance
Solitude
Reflection
Nature
Human
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Rest and be thankful.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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A tale in everything.
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The child is the father of man.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
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