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Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
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
Influence
Good
Transmutes
Subdues
Receives
Controls
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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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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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Truths that wake To perish never
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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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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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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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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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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