William Wordsworth Quotes, Blood Quotes, Earth Quotes

Earth helped him with the cry of blood.

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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.

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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.

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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.

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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.

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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.

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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.

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

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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.

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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.

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

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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!

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

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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.

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I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.

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The child is the father of man.

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