A Quote by William Wordsworth

A Primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him
And it was something more. — © William Wordsworth
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
Very few men can speak of Nature, for instance, with any truth. They overstep her modesty, somehow or other, and confer no favor.They do not speak a good word for her. Most cry better than they speak, and you can get more nature out of them by pinching than by addressing them. The surliness with which the woodchopper speaks of his woods, handling them as indifferently as his axe, is better than the mealy-mouthed enthusiasm of the lover of nature. Better that the primrose by the river's brim be a yellow primrose, and nothing more, than that it be something less.
Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm-tree for our king!
More than half a century has passed, and yet each spring, when I wander into the primrose wood, I see the pale yellow blooms and smell their sweetest scent - for a moment I am seven years old again and wandering in that fragrant wood.
I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill
I'm glad I don't live in Primrose Hill any more. I couldn't even walk through the park. You never invite that kind of attention.
April brings the primrose sweet, / Scatters daisies at our feet.
I lived in Camden, Primrose Hill and Kentish Town for 10 years.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb.
There are people who I still knock around with from the Primrose Hill set, but they have found sobriety, too, and are doing their own things.
It's iconic, it's Wembley. When I go running up Primrose Hill you can see the arch. It's a great thing and it's a proud spot for London.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
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