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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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
Passionate
Divine
Belief
Faith
Become
Ripened
Persuasion
Intuition
More quotes by William Wordsworth
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
William Wordsworth
What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
William Wordsworth
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
William Wordsworth
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
William Wordsworth
What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
William Wordsworth
Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
William Wordsworth
One impulse from a vernal wood
William Wordsworth
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
William Wordsworth
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
William Wordsworth
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
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
William Wordsworth
Yet tears to human suffering are due And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.
William Wordsworth
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
William Wordsworth