873 Quotes by William Wordsworth

Four years and thirty, told this very week,Have I been now a sojourner on earth,And yet the morning gladness is not goneWhich then was in my mind.

A deep distress has humanised my soul.

A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.

A youth to whom was givenSo much of earth, so much of heaven.And such impetuous blood.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

For still, the more he works, the moreDo his weak ankles swell.

In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.