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A babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart.
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
Dialogue
Held
Touch
Mother
Heart
Dialogues
Mute
Babe
Intercourse
More quotes by William Wordsworth
There is creation in the eye.
William Wordsworth
The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.
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For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
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Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
William Wordsworth
Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
William Wordsworth
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
William Wordsworth
Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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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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And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
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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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Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
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