A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

— William Wordsworth

A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.

— William Wordsworth

A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?

— William Wordsworth

..........books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will:

— William Wordsworth

Books! this a dull and endless strife:Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! On my life, There's more of wisdom in it.

— William Wordsworth

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

— William Wordsworth

But thou art with us, with us in the past, The present, with us in the times to come. There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair, No languor, no dejection, no dismay, No absence scarcely can there be, for those Who love as we do. Speed the well!

— William Wordsworth

But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.

— William Wordsworth

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

— William Wordsworth

Come forth into the light of things. Let nature be your teacher.

— William Wordsworth