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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
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Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Soul
Days
Severe
Heart
Came
Heroic
World
Belief
Flames
Story
Hearts
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Exciting
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Youth
Flame
More quotes by William Wordsworth
The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee! . . . . . . Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
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Truth takes no account of centuries.
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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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The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.
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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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Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
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Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
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As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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