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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
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
Soul
Days
Severe
Heart
Came
Heroic
World
Belief
Flames
Story
Hearts
Fact
Exciting
Assent
Facts
Remains
Lacked
Stories
Research
Solace
Power
Youth
Flame
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
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Brothers all In honour, as in one community, Scholars and gentlemen.
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Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
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A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.
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Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
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Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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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 mysteries that cups of flowers infold And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
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Miss not the occasion by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting 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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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only thereWith hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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