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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
Feels
Ears
Choose
Eye
Cannot
Stills
Still
Body
Feel
Bodies
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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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.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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No motion has she now, no force she neither hears nor sees rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind And worse, against ourselves.
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The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
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