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The wealthiest man among us is the best

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
Wealthiest
Among
Wealth
Best
Men

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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.
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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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