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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

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
Mind
Letters
Never
Paper
Possible
Whether
Longest
Write
Frequently
Facts
Fill
Writing
Breathing
Heart
Communicate

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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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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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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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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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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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. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
William Wordsworth
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
William Wordsworth
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
William Wordsworth