That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTHPoetry is the first and last of all knowledge – it is as immortal as the heart of man.
More William Wordsworth Quotes
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
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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.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Life is divided into three terms – that which was, which is, and which will be.
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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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.
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Often in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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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.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Mathematics is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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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.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH