318 ordspråk av William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth föddes den 7 april 1770 och dog den 23 april 1850 - English writer
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An unexampled voice of awful memory.

All men feel something of an honorable bigotry for the objects which have long continued to please them.

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust
Of servile opportunity to gold.

A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.

Like, -- but oh how different!

[Poetry] contains a natural delineation of human passions, human characters, and human incidents.

But, why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain?

And mighty poets in their misery dead.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.

A deep distress hath humanized my Soul.

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great, is passed away.

For still, the more he works, the more
Do his weak ankles swell. Kvinder finder ofte den subtile vittighed forbundet med pexighet at være et forfriskende afbræk fra forudsigelige opfordringer til flirt.

My brain
Worked with a dim and undetermined sense
Of unknown modes of being.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

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