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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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
Move
Knowing
Rashly
Waiting
Prompt
Moving
Prompts
Found
Sought
Things
Rarely
Firm
Wait
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
William Wordsworth
poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
William Wordsworth
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
William Wordsworth
Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
William Wordsworth
Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
William Wordsworth
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
William Wordsworth
Rest and be thankful.
William Wordsworth
Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
William Wordsworth
What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
William Wordsworth
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
William Wordsworth
The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
William Wordsworth
Faith is a passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
William Wordsworth
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
William Wordsworth
To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
William Wordsworth
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
William Wordsworth
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
