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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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
Sunshine
Passed
Glorious
Glory
Birth
Away
Earth
Hath
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Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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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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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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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.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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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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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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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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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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