William Wordsworth Quotes on Wordsworth
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O for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, linnet! in thy green array, Presiding spirit here to-day, Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion.
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.
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Of vast circumference and gloom profound, This solitary Tree! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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O Blithe newcomer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?
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No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery.
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Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!
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Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees.
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The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream.
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Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!
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Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, Shalt show us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.
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But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there One of a mighty multitude whose way Is a perpetual harmony and dance Magnificent.
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Is there not An art, a music, and a stream of words That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?
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Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.