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In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Feared
Honest
Modern
Business
Doesn
Money
Crook
Men
Crooks
Modernism
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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The eye— it cannot choose but see we cannot bid the ear be still our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Nature's old felicities.
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