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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

William Wordsworth

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Face Oneself Soul Word

Bagwalas

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Face Oneself Soul Word
The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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

Feeling Ourselves Pleasure Pride
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Feeling Poetry Powerful
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Glory Greatness Hard
One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Flower Oneself Worth
Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Glory Happiness
Let Nature be your teacher.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Nature Teacher Yourself
There is a comfort in the strength of love; ‘Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Break Comfortable Endurance Heart Love Strength
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Darkness Nature Suffering
Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Comfortable Sea
Faith is a passionate intuition.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Faith Passionate
That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Eyes Solitude
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Flower Lie Myself Tears
But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Glory God Heaven Home Ourselves
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Dance Flower Lonely Myself Tree

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