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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.
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
Stills
Still
Body
Feel
Bodies
Feels
Ears
Choose
Eye
Cannot
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Either still I find Some imperfection in the chosen theme, Or see of absolute accomplishment Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, That I recoil and droop, and seek repose In listlessness from vain perplexity, Unprofitably travelling towards the grave.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
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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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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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