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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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
Golf
Golfers
Sports
Idleness
Retired
Retiring
Retirement
Round
Rounds
Strenuous
Spent
Golfing
More quotes by William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
William Wordsworth
And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
William Wordsworth
With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee!
William Wordsworth
Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
William Wordsworth
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
William Wordsworth
These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
William Wordsworth
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
William Wordsworth
And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
William Wordsworth
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
William Wordsworth
Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
William Wordsworth
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
William Wordsworth
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
William Wordsworth
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
William Wordsworth
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
William Wordsworth