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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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
Tumult
Approve
Approval
Gods
Depth
Soul
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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Great men have been among us hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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