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Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!
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
Mary
Bred
Burn
Mills
Shadow
Float
Swan
Sweet
Meadows
Partake
Stills
Lake
Sweets
Home
Floats
Meadow
Still
Lakes
Mill
Double
Swans
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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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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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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