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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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
Comfort
Poetry
Thoughts
Divine
Administers
Religion
Breathes
Comforts
Origin
Breathe
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Sweetest melodies.Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
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We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
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