William Wordsworth Quotes About Pride
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride; And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope; Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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