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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.

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
Joy
Mood
Pleasure
Secure
Kindliness
Safety
Vacant
Nature
Stones
Stocks
Heart
Loves
Wasting
Things
Air
Tribute
Sweet
Indifferent
Pay
Ease

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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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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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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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
William Wordsworth
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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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