William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

William Wordsworth Quotes

  • ''The sounding cataract
    Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
    The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
    Their colours and their forms, were then to me
    An appetite: a feeling and a love,
    That had no need of a remoter charm,
    By thought supplied, or any interest
    Unborrowed from the eye.—''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey (l. 77-84). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
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  • ''the wiser mind
    Mourns less for what Age takes away,
    Than what it leaves behind.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. The Fountain (l. 34-36). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''feelings too
    Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
    As may have had no trivial influence
    On that best portion of a good man's life;
    His little, nameless, unremembered acts
    Of kindness and of love.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey (l. 31-36). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''We wear a face of joy, because
    We have been glad of yore.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. The Fountain (l. 47-48). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''The still, sad music of humanity,''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey (l. 92). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''Too blest with any one to pair;
    Thyself thy own enjoyment.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. The Green Linnet (l. 23-24). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''the fretful stir
    Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey (l. 53-54). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''The good die first
    And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust
    Burn to the socket.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. the old man, in The Ruined Cottage, l. 77-9, part of The Excursion, bk. 1 (1814).
  • ''something far more deeply interfused,
    Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey (l. 97-98). . . The Poems; Vol. 1 [William Wordsworth]. John O. Hayden, ed. (1977, repr. 1990) Penguin Books.
  • ''Where the statue stood
    Of Newton with his prism and silent face,
    The marble index of a mind for ever
    Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.''
    William Wordsworth (1770-1850), British poet. The Prelude, bk. 3. Of the statue of Newton at Trinity College, Cambridge University.

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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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