Quotes from William Wordsworth

And now I see with eye sereneThe very pulse of the machine.

An ampler ether, a diviner air.

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

O joy! that in our embersIs something that doth live,That nature yet remembersWhat was so fugitive!

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:—feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love....

We must be free or die, who speak the tongueThat Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals holdWhich Milton held.

Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.

Thou hast great allies;Thy friends are exultations, agonies,And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

Where the statue stoodOf Newton with his prism and silent face,The marble index of a mind foreverVoyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the loreOf nicely calculated less or more.

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless!

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Surprised by joy—impatient as the wind.

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

I traveled among unknown men,In lands beyond the sea;Nor, England! did I know till thenWhat love I bore to thee.

Where lies the land to which yon ship must go?Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,Festively she puts forth in trim array.

Have I not reason to lamentWhat man has made of man?

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

Father! — to God himself we cannot give a holier name.

I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

Who, doomed to go in company with pain,And fear, and bloodshed, miserable train!Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee:And was the safeguard of the west.

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