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It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.
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
Air
Minutes
Sweeter
Mild
March
Minute
Blessing
More quotes by William Wordsworth
But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
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A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong--be worthy of the grace of God.
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A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
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Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away. Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
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One impulse from a vernal wood
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
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Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
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The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry and these we adore Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
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