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- Our birth is but a dream and a forgetting (Wordsworth)
- ...so schläft er sehr rasch wieder ein, und schon nach vierundzwanzig Stunden … - William Wordsworth
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(COMPARE)
- Our birth is but a dream and a forgetting (Wordsworth)
- ...so schläft er sehr rasch wieder ein, und schon nach vierundzwanzig Stunden ist es, als sei man niet weg gewesen und als sei die Reise der Traum einer Nacht. (Thomas Mann)
- Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx; A mortal mother would on Lethe fix. (Byron)
William Wordsworth (April 7, 1770 – April 23, 1850) was a major English poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, launched the Romantic Age in English literature with the 1798 publication of Lyrical Ballads.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Benjamin Haydon (Public domain / CC0)
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, thou ! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more.
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The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
