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The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
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
Manhood
Childhood
Tomorrow
Today
Children
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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Nature's old felicities.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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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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But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
William Wordsworth
Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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Yon foaming flood seems motionless as iceIts dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
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The child is the father of man.
William Wordsworth