Quotes
Quotes - Wordsworth
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
What is pride? A whizzing rocket that would emulate a star.
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said "my winsome marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the braes of Yarrow."
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
Art thou the bird whom Man loves best, The pious bird with the scarlet breast, Our little English Robin; The bird that comes about our doors When autumn winds are sobbing?
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my easement 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.
Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
Hail to the crown by Freedom shaped--to gird An English sovereign's brow! and to the throne Whereon he sits! whose deep foundations lie In veneration and the people's love.
The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.
There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
Small service is true service while it lasts: Of humblest friends, bright Creature! scorn not one; The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dew drop from the Sun.
Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witching of the soft blue sky!
And she hath smiles to earth unknown-- Smiles that with motion of their own Do spread, and sink, and rise.
One great society alone on earth: the noble living and the noble dead.
My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Behold, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight.
A tale in everything.
He could afford to suffer With those whom he saw suffer.
The swan on still St. Mary's lake Float double, swan and shadow!
The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door.
Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will. Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.
