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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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
Less
Passiveness
Mind
Deem
Impress
Feed
Powers
Minds
Divine
Wise
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
William Wordsworth
For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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