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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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
Mindedness
Harvest
Quiet
Open
Eye
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more. The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
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Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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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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But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.
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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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A power is passing from the earth.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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