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Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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
Since
Creature
Sleeps
Heaven
Mortals
Marvellous
Coleridge
Power
Gentle
Forehead
Frolic
Earth
Loneliness
Foreheads
Rapt
Every
Lonely
Lambs
Hearth
Creatures
Eyed
Godlike
Source
Frozen
Lamb
Sleep
Mortal
Vanished
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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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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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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Love betters what is best
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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