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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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
Lonely
Sky
Among
Silence
Sleep
Starry
Hills
More quotes by William Wordsworth
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
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A soul so pitiably forlorn, If such do on this earth abide, May season apathy with scorn, May turn indifference to pride And still be not unblest- compared With him who grovels, self-debarred From all that lies within the scope Of holy faith and christian hope Or, shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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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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Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing The rain is over and gone.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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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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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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