Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm. William Wordsworth More Quotes by William Wordsworth More Quotes From William Wordsworth Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more. William Wordsworth generositygivingheaven Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost. William Wordsworth losingfiremay She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. William Wordsworth sadspringlove Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be. William Wordsworth destinyhomeheart "What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail? William Wordsworth prayerdarkspring Wisdom sits with children round her knees. William Wordsworth kneeswisdomchildren The Rainbow comes and goes, William Wordsworth rainbowflowerappreciation Departing summer hath assumed William Wordsworth summerspringlooks 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. William Wordsworth farewellspringbird The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow William Wordsworth childhoodtodaychildren Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he William Wordsworth warriorrealhappiness Heaven lies about us in our infancy. William Wordsworth babyheavenlying Faith is a passionate intuition. William Wordsworth wisdomspiritualfaith Earth helped him with the cry of blood. William Wordsworth cryearthblood Two voices are there: one is of the deep; It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody, Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea, Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep: And one is of an old half-witted sheep Which bleats articulate monotony, And indicates that two and one are three, That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep And, Wordsworth, both are thine. William Wordsworth voicesleeptwo I travelled among unknown men, William Wordsworth naturelovetravel He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure. William Wordsworth futurefearpast Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul. William Wordsworth anonbreezesoul True beauty dwells in deep retreats, William Wordsworth true-beautyheartlife 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. William Wordsworth powerfulpoetryfeelings
