William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

William Wordsworth Quotes

  • ''Strange fits of passion have I known:''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. I. Strange fits of passion have I known (l. 12-14). . . From LUCY The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
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  • ''Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
    Mindless of its just honors; with this key
    Shakespeare unlocked his heart;''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned (l. 1-3). . . The Poems; Vol. 2 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1989) Penguin Books.
  • ''What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
    Into a Lover's head!
    'O mercy!' to myself I cried,
    'If Lucy should be dead!'''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. I. Strange fits of passion have I known (l. 25-28). . ; from LUCY The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''She was a phantom of delight
    When first she gleamed upon my sight;
    A lovely apparition, sent
    To be a moment's ornament;''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. She Was a Phantom of Delight (l. 1-4). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''A violet by a mossy stone
    Half hidden from the eye!
    Fair as a star, when only one
    Is shining in the sky.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. II. She dwelt among the untrodden ways (l. 25-28). . ; from LUCY The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. She Was a Phantom of Delight (l. 27-30). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''She lived unknown, and few could know
    When Lucy ceased to be;
    But she is in her grave, and oh,
    The difference to me!''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. II. She dwelt among the untrodden ways (l. 5-12). . ; from LUCY The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''A creature not too bright or good
    For human nature's daily food;
    For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
    Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. She Was a Phantom of Delight (l. 17-20). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''I traveled among unknown men,
    In lands beyond the sea;
    Nor, England! did I know till then
    What love I bore to thee.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. III. I traveled among unknown men (l. 1-4). . ; from LUCY The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''—I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
    With coldness still returning;
    Alas! the gratitude of men
    Hath oftener left me mourning.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Simon Lee (l. 93-96). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.

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Best Poem of William Wordsworth

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud (Daffodils)

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.

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

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I ...

Read the full of I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud (Daffodils)

The Trosachs

THERE 's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
   But were an apt confessional for one
   Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass
Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase
   That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes
   Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouch'd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,

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