873 Quotes by William Wordsworth

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.

Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

And that unless above himself he canErect himself, how poor a thing is man.

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

No human ear shall ever hear me speak;No human dwelling ever give me food,Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild,In search of nothing, that this earth can give,But expiation, will I wander on --A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,Yet loathing life -- till anger is appeasedIn Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.