William Wordsworth Quotes, Hope Quotes, Children Quotes

Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.

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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.

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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

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Nature's old felicities.

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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.

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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.

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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.

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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

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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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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

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Love betters what is best

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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.

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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring; That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.

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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?

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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

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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.

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Tags : William Wordsworth Quotes , Sweet Quotes , Memories Quotes