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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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
Find
Claimed
Giving
Gifts
Whoever
Spread
Shall
Pleasure
Happiness
Earth
Stray
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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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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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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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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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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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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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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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Wisdom married to immortal verse.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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