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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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
Fields
Temples
Domes
City
Ships
Glittering
Cities
Bright
Garment
Open
Theatre
Garments
Beauty
Sky
Doth
Morning
Wear
Bare
Lying
Silent
Towers
Like
Air
Unto
Theatres
More quotes by William Wordsworth
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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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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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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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
William Wordsworth
Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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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!
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