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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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
Good
Hearts
Summer
Whose
Dies
Death
Socket
Firsts
Dry
First
Burn
Heart
Dust
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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A tale in everything.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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There is creation in the eye.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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One impulse from a vernal wood
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of Summer!
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