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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude
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
Reflection
Nature
Human
Humans
Men
Musing
Life
Musings
Acceptance
Solitude
More quotes by William Wordsworth
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
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With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him it was blessedness and love!
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
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One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.
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The child is the father of man.
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Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
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Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.
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I'll teach my boy the sweetest things I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
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We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
William Wordsworth