William Wordsworth Quotes

CHARACTER of the HAPPY WARRIOR. Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he Whom every Man in arms should wish to be? - It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought: Whose high endeavours are an inward light That make the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, 10 But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doom'd to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! ~ William Wordsworth

Love betters what is best ~ William Wordsworth

Far from the world I walk, and from all care. ~ William Wordsworth

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love. ~ William Wordsworth

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods. ~ William Wordsworth

Books are the best type of the influence of the past. ~ William Wordsworth

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster child, her inmate man,
Forget the glories he hath known
And that imperial palace whence he came. ~ William Wordsworth

Cheap matter offered they to boyish wit, ~ William Wordsworth

We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness. ~ William Wordsworth

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars. ~ William Wordsworth

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free. ~ William Wordsworth

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven." ~ William Wordsworth

I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation. ~ William Wordsworth

Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth. ~ William Wordsworth

In all ages woman has been the source of all that is pure, unselfish, and heroic in the spirit and life of man.....poetry and fiction are based upon woman's love, and the movements of history are mainly due to the sentiments or ambitions she has inspired......there is no aspiration which any man here to-night entertains, no achievement he seeks to accomplish, no great and honorable ambition he desires to gratify, which is not directly related to either or both a mother or a wife. From the hearth-stone around which linger the recollections of our mother, from the fireside where our wife awaits us, come all the purity, all the hope, and all the courage with which we fight the battle of life. The man who is not thus inspired, who labors not so much to secure the applause of the world as the solid and more precious approval of his home, accomplishes little of good for others or of honor for himself. I close with the hope that each of us may always have near us:

'A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command,
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light. ~ Chauncey Mitchell DePew

The Reverie of Poor Susan
AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:
Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard
In the silence of morning the song of the bird.
'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale
Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.
She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade;
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes! ~ William Wordsworth

The eye
it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against or with our will. ~ William Wordsworth

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all. ~ William Wordsworth

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises. ~ William Wordsworth

The truth is easier when you leavin' it out.
Like when you "5 minutes away" but you're just leavin your house? ~ William Wordsworth

[ ... ]the stately and slow-moving Turk,
With freight of slippers piled beneath his arm. ~ William Wordsworth

Truths that wake
To perish never ~ William Wordsworth

The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage; A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height. ~ William Wordsworth

There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead. ~ William Wordsworth

THERE WAS A BOY"

THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, 10
That they might answer him.--And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice 20
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school; 30
An ~ William Wordsworth

For nature then to me was all in all. ~ William Wordsworth

Here must thou be, O man,
Strength to thyself - no helper hast thou here
Here keepest thou thy individual state:
No other can divide with thee this work,
No secondary hand can intervene
To fashion this ability. 'Tis thine,
The prime and vital principle is thine
In the recesses of thy nature, far
From any reach of outward fellowship,
Else 'tis not thine at all. ~ William Wordsworth

Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue. ~ William Wordsworth

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton. ~ William Wordsworth

All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops; - on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. ~ William Wordsworth

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

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them. ~ William Wordsworth

And we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. ~ William Wordsworth

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

The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives. ~ William Wordsworth

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart. ~ William Wordsworth

Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet. ~ William Wordsworth

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine
A being breathing thoughtful breath
A traveler betwixt life and death
The reason firm the temperate will
Endurance Foresight Strength and skill ~ William Wordsworth

We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The Man of Science, the Chemist and Mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have had to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the Anatomist's knowledge is connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure; and where he has no pleasure he has no knowledge. ~ William Wordsworth

Nor less I deem that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness ~ William Wordsworth

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. ~ William Wordsworth

A deep distress hath humanised my soul. ~ William Wordsworth

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

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place. ~ William Wordsworth

Before me begging did she stand, Pouring out sorrows like a sea; Grief after grief: - on English Land Such woes I knew could never be; And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature! ~ William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the lake beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. ~ William Wordsworth

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food. ~ William Wordsworth

The child is the father of man. ~ William Wordsworth

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind. ~ 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

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain. ~ William Wordsworth

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held. ~ 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

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? ~ William Wordsworth

Stop thinking for once in your life! ~ William Wordsworth

Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion. ~ William Wordsworth

The Eagle, he was lord above ~ William Wordsworth

How does the meadow-flower its bloom
unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and in that freedom
bold. ~ William Wordsworth

Hence, in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea ~ William Wordsworth

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. ~ William Wordsworth

This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. ~ William Wordsworth

As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay. ~ William Wordsworth

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

Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. ~ William Wordsworth

Portentous change when History can appear
As the cool Advocate of foul device;
Reckless audacity extol, and jeer
At consciences perplexed with scruples nice!
They who bewail not, must abhor, the sneer
Born of Conceit, Power's blind Idolater;
Or haply sprung from vaunting Cowardice
Betrayed by mockery of holy fear.
Hath it not long been said the wrath of Man
Works not the righteousness of God? Oh bend, 10
Bend, ye Perverse! to judgments from on High,
Laws that lay under Heaven's perpetual ban
All principles of action that transcend
The sacred limits of humanity. ~ William Wordsworth

To begin, begin. ~ William Wordsworth

Books! tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it. ~ William Wordsworth

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark. ~ William Wordsworth

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray. ~ William Wordsworth

Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. ~ William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through ~ William Wordsworth

Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs. ~ William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair. ~ William Wordsworth

Imagination, which in truth
Is but another name for absolute power
And clearest insight, amplitude of mind,
And reason, in her most exalted mood. ~ William Wordsworth

Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now. ~ William Wordsworth

And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind. ~ William Wordsworth

Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils. ~ William Wordsworth

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man ... ~ William Wordsworth

When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign, is Solitude ~ William Wordsworth

How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart. ~ William Wordsworth

Lines Written In Early Spring

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

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

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man? ~ William Wordsworth

Feeling comes in aid
Of feeling, and diversity of strength
Attends us, if but once we have been strong. ~ William Wordsworth

A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. ~ William Wordsworth

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost. ~ William Wordsworth

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet ... ~ William Wordsworth

Dreams, books, are each a world. ~ William Wordsworth

Milton, in his hand
The thing became a trumpet ~ William Wordsworth

She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene,
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be. ~ William Wordsworth

It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition ... They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears "such as Angels weep," but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both. ~ William Wordsworth

So that almost a doubt within me springs Of Providence, such emptiness at length Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God! I measure back the steps which I have trod, ~ William Wordsworth

If living sympathy be theirs
And leaves and airs,
The piping
breeze and dancing tree
Are all alive and glad as we:
Whether this be
truth or no
I cannot tell, I do not know;
Nay
whether now I reason
well,
I do not know, I cannot tell. ~ William Wordsworth

getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ~ but like lemmings running headlong to the sea, we are oblivious. ~ William Wordsworth

I had melancholy thoughts...
a strangeness in my mind,
A feeling that I was not for that hour,
Nor for that place. ~ William Wordsworth

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness. ~ William Wordsworth

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind
But how could I forget thee? ~ William Wordsworth

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her. ~ William Wordsworth

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come ~ William Wordsworth

The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society. ~ William Wordsworth

...The happy Warrior... is he... whose powers shed round him in the common strife, or mild concerns of ordinary life, a constant influence, a peculiar grace; but who, if he be called upon to face some awful moment to which Heaven has joined great issues, good or bad for human kind, is happy as a lover; and attired with sudden brightness, like a man inspired; and, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law in calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; or if an unexpected call succeed, come when it will, is equal to the need: he who, though thus endued as with a sense and faculty for storm and turbulence, is yet a soul whose master-bias leans to homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, are at his heart; and such fidelity it is his darling passion to approve; more brave for this, that he hath much to love:- ~ William Wordsworth

Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach. ~ William Wordsworth