William Wordsworth Quotes, Time Quotes, Hair Quotes

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

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

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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?

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

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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.

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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.

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She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.

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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.

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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

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Tags : William Wordsworth Quotes , Beauty Quotes , Children Quotes

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

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A brotherhood of venerable trees.

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

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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.

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Rest and be thankful.

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Heaven lies about us in our infancy.

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Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

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

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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.

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

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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.

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