William Wordsworth Quotes, Hands Quotes, Soul Quotes

And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains,-alas! too few.

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

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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.

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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

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

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The unconquerable pang of despised love.

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

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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.

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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.

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Truth takes no account of centuries.

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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?

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The child is father of the man.

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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.

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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all

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

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And mighty poets in their misery dead.

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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world; One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear; And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.

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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.

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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.

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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.

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