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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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
Sin
Bitterness
Rueful
Lead
Gates
Riven
Sweet
Sins
Minstrel
Memories
Vain
Effaced
Forever
Bitter
Leaven
Heaven
Mercy
Minstrels
Earth
Memory
Endeavour
Heart
Conflict
Forgiven
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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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.
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The light that never was, on sea or land The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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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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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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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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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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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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