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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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
Age
Seventies
Rather
Height
Personage
Years
Rise
Loftier
Seemed
Goodly
Size
Pomp
Victory
Monumental
Weight
Seventy
Open
Stature
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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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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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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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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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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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All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
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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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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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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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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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