She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament. - William Wordsworth
That best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. - William Wordsworth
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart - William Wordsworth
A mind forever voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone. - William Wordsworth
Society has parted man from man, neglectful of the universal heart. - William Wordsworth
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
That best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. - William Wordsworth
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar:Not in entire forgetfulness,And not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we come - William Wordsworth
The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast. - William Wordsworth
Habit rules the unreflecting herd. - William Wordsworth
The child is the father of the man. - William Wordsworth
Nature never did betrayThe heart that loved her. - William Wordsworth
..........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: - William Wordsworth
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death? - William Wordsworth
Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be... - William Wordsworth
But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home. - William Wordsworth
But thou art with us, with us in the past,The present, with us in the times to come.There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,No languor, no dejection, no dismay,No absence scarcely can there be, for thoseWho love as we do. Speed thee well! - William Wordsworth
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,And has the nature of infinity. - William Wordsworth
My heart leaps up when I beholdA rainbow in the sky:So was it when my life began;So is it now I am a man; - William Wordsworth
The best portions of a good man's life, his little, nameless acts of kindness and love. - William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! - William Wordsworth
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this... - William Wordsworth
Rest and be thankful. - William Wordsworth
When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude - William Wordsworth
To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. - William Wordsworth
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. - William Wordsworth
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. - William Wordsworth
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things. - William Wordsworth
The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. - William Wordsworth