William Wordsworth Quotes

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!

Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.

But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

To be young was very heaven!

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

The child is father of the man.

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.

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

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?

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.

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.

Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love!

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?

Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.

poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

There is creation in the eye.

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

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?