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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.
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
Nobler
Purposes
Moves
Theory
Either
Action
Thought
Salutary
Must
Precede
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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A tale in everything.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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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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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
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Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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