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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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
Perpetual
Breath
Breaths
Noble
Gift
Upon
Breathed
Hope
Nobility
Every
Origin
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
William Wordsworth
While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.
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I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven Was blowing on my body, felt within A correspondent breeze, that gently moved With quickening virtue, but is now become A tempest, a redundant energy, Vexing its own creation.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
William Wordsworth
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
William Wordsworth
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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We murder to dissect.
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In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.
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Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.
William Wordsworth
The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
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The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
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