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Free as a bird to settle where I will.

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
Settle
Settling
Bird
Free

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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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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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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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And I am happy when I sing.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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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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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
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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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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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Nature's old felicities.
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Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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