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Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.
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
Neither
Judgments
Judgment
Prevail
Sneers
Shall
Intercourse
Rash
Evil
Perseverance
Greetings
Ever
Selfish
Men
Tongue
Sneer
Life
Daily
Tongues
Kindness
Dreary
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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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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A deep distress has humanised my soul.
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The moving accident is not my trade To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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