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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

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
William Wordsworth
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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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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
William Wordsworth
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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