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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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
Give
Holier
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Dad
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Father
Cannot
More quotes by William Wordsworth
But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
William Wordsworth
In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
William Wordsworth
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
William Wordsworth
Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
William Wordsworth
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
William Wordsworth
Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
William Wordsworth
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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Earth has not anything to show more fair.
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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