Primroses, the Spring may love them; Summer knows but little of them. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot! — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are violets, They will have a place… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave! — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history? — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die! — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way! — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm. — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride. — William Wordsworth Copy Share
The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
“Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good.” — William Wordsworth Copy Share
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… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
“Where are your books? - that light bequeathed To beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed From dead men… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets. — William Wordsworth Copy Share
The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears. — William Wordsworth Copy Share
“She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament: Her eyes… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
“If the time should ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose… — William Wordsworth Copy Share
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality. — William Wordsworth Copy Share
