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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
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
Together
Dust
Music
Harmony
Discordant
Like
Elements
Reconciles
Grows
Workmanship
Dark
Inscrutable
Society
Reconcile
Makes
Cling
Spirit
Immortal
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
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Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
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Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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We Poets in our youth begin in gladness But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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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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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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