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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

William Wordsworth

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

Flower Oneself Worth
The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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

Himself Rise Stars
Great men have been among us; hands that penn’d and tongues that utter’d wisdom.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Greatness Hands Man Wisdom
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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

Feeling Ourselves Pleasure Pride
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Flower Lie Myself Tears
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
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Light Nature Teacher
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
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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Forget Ourselves Rise Soul
Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Gift Nature
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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Eyes Heart Myself Tears
All that we behold is full of blessings.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Blessing Gratitude One Liner

But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

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Popular Authors

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