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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.
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
Like
Blow
Step
Vacancy
Steps
Transitory
Wonder
Muscle
Action
Betrayed
Done
Betrayal
Way
Motion
Men
Muscles
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And that imperial palace whence he came.
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Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.
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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song.
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His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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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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In years that bring the philosophic mind.
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