William Wordsworth Quotes

Let Nature be your teacher

It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.

Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.

Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!

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.

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

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

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.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

A deep distress has humanised my soul.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

Heaven lies about us in our infancy.

Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.

Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.

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?

With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

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

Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.

Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.

Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.

The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.

I'm not talking about a "show me other walls of this thing" button, I mean a "stumble" button for wallbase.

Truth takes no account of centuries.

Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.

We live by admiration, hope and love.

The child shall become father to the man.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.

Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.

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

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.

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.

And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.