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Dreams, books, are each a world.

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
Dreams
Books
Dream
Book
World

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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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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Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
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