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Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!
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
Word
Hours
Dundee
Onset
Hour
Gave
Single
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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