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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.

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
Mindedness
Harvest
Quiet
Open
Eye

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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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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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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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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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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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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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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
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