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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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
Mountain
Deep
Sides
Bounded
Nature
Mountains
Streams
Wherever
Rivers
Lonely
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
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How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
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Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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