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A power is passing from the earth.
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
Passings
Passing
Power
Earth
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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To be young was very heaven!
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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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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.
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That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone!
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Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
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A tale in everything.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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Love betters what is best
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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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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