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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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
Pensive
Daffodil
Vacant
Inward
Bliss
Solitude
Eye
More quotes by William Wordsworth
[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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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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We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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For nature then to me was all in all.
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What is good for a bootless bene? With these dark words begins my tale And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
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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.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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