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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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
Alone
Gait
Seems
Audible
Music
Starry
Every
Governed
Strain
Motion
Train
Seem
Veering
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Faith is a passionate intuition.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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The vision and the faculty divine Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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Earth has not anything to show more fair.
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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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He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh. The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. William Winter, Love's Queen. The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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