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The child shall become father to the man.
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
Shall
Child
Father
Become
Children
Men
More quotes by William Wordsworth
But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
William Wordsworth
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
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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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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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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.
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A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
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He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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The child is the father of man.
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Free as a bird to settle where I will.
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Primroses, the Spring may love them Summer knows but little of them.
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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