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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
Birth
Away
Earth
Hath
Sunshine
Passed
Glorious
Glory
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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in the mind of man, A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
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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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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee!
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A power is passing from the earth.
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For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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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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