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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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
Less
Philanthropic
Give
Philanthropy
Giving
Rejects
Generosity
Charity
Thou
Lore
High
Canst
Heaven
Nicely
More quotes by William Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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Thought and theory must precede all action, that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is nobler in itself than either thought or theory.
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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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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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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.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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