William Wordsworth

William
Wordsworth
1770
1850

English Poet

Author Quotes

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

The man whose eye is ever on himself doth look on one, the least of Nature's works, one who might move the wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds unlawful, ever. O, be wiser, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; true dignity abides with him alone who, in the silent hour of inward thought, can still suspect, and still revere himself, in loneliness of heart.

The sightless Milton, with his hair around his placid temples curled; and Shakespeare at his side,?a freight, if clay could think and mind were weight, for him who bore the world!

There is a dark invisible workmanship - that reconciles discordant elements - and makes them move in one society

This dull product of a scoffer's pen.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

We should see the earth unthwarted in her wish to recompense the industrious,

Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, and never looks behind;/ And sings a solitary song/ That whistles in the wind.

One Lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, taught both by what she shews, and what conceals, never to blend our pleasure or our pride with sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, the work of Fancy, or some happy tone of meditation, slipping in between the beauty coming and the beauty gone.

She died, and left to me this heath, this calm and quiet scene, the memory of what has been, and never more will be.

Soft is the music that would charm forever; the flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

Sweet childish days, that were as long as twenty days are now.

The best part of one's life is good deeds and love that no one else knows.

The fretful stir unprofitable, and the fever of the world have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

The mightiest lever known to the moral world, imagination.

The silence that is in the starry sky, the sleep that is among the lonely hills.

There is a luxury in self-dispraise; and inward self-disparagement affords to meditative spleen a grateful feast.

This son of his old age was yet more dear?less from instinctive tenderness, the same fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all?than that a child, more than all other gifts that earth can offer to declining man, brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, and stirrings of inquietude, when they by tendency of nature needs must fail.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, so didst thou travel on life's common way, in cheerful godliness.

Unprofitably travelling toward the grave.

We will grieve not, rather find

Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, -- or some secreted island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world of all of us, -- the place where in the end we find our happiness, or not at all!

Author Picture
First Name
William
Last Name
Wordsworth
Birth Date
1770
Death Date
1850
Bio

English Poet