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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

William Wordsworth

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Feeling Ourselves Pleasure Pride
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Breathe Heart Yourself
As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Grief Happiness Ourselves
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Joy Live Nature Ourselves Remember
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Body Fear Guilty Oneself
My heart leaps up when I behold
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Heart Myself
May books and nature be their early joy!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Book Joy Nature
But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Himself Rise Stars
A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer’s joy.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Famous Joy Man Singer
Rest and be thankful.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

One Liner Thankful
Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Darkness Growth Mortal Music Spirit Togetherness
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Mindset Sadness Thinking
But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Divine Grace Nature
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Born Flower Joy Thinking
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Flower Freedom
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch’d in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Dance End Shine Stars

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

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Popular Authors

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