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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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
Youth
Age
Happiness
Happy
Free
Beautiful
More quotes by William Wordsworth
In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
William Wordsworth
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
William Wordsworth
Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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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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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
William Wordsworth
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
William Wordsworth
But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
William Wordsworth
A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
William Wordsworth
Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
William Wordsworth
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
William Wordsworth
The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
William Wordsworth
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
William Wordsworth
Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
William Wordsworth
[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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The budding rose above the rose full blown.
William Wordsworth
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
William Wordsworth