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Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
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
Defeated
Hath
March
Snow
Army
War
Like
Retreated
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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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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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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