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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
Held
Touch
Mother
Heart
Dialogues
Mute
Babe
Intercourse
Dialogue
More quotes by William Wordsworth
All that we behold is full of blessings.
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For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
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Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
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Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
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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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Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
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Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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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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The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee thou hast great allies Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
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