Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away. William Wordsworth More Quotes by William Wordsworth More Quotes From William Wordsworth The child is father of the man. William Wordsworth men father children 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. William Wordsworth sky heart men The budding rose above the rose full blown. William Wordsworth rose Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind? William Wordsworth behinds poetry sweet Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion. William Wordsworth breathe poetry comfort Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow. William Wordsworth strong dream happiness These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will. William Wordsworth wealth book Though nothing can bring back the hour William Wordsworth flower condolences sympathy Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song. William Wordsworth flower summer song Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns. William Wordsworth light dwelling sun Truth takes no account of centuries. William Wordsworth accounts century truth The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task. William Wordsworth laborers tasks wind Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd William Wordsworth greatness wisdom men my brain William Wordsworth thoughtful darkness thinking the Mind of Man-- William Wordsworth thoughtful song men Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more. William Wordsworth adore idols thinking Knowledge and increase of enduring joy William Wordsworth poetry wisdom book It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.... They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears "such as Angels weep," but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both. William Wordsworth differences angel blood Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings. William Wordsworth poetry enough What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars. William Wordsworth rockets stars pride
