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William Wordsworth quotes - page 3
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
William Wordsworth
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
William Wordsworth
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive.
William Wordsworth
And 't is my faith, that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
William Wordsworth
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
William Wordsworth
Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
William Wordsworth
One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
William Wordsworth
A power is passing from the earth.
William Wordsworth
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
William Wordsworth
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land.
William Wordsworth
Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
William Wordsworth
One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
William Wordsworth
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
William Wordsworth
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.
William Wordsworth
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
William Wordsworth
And mighty poets in their misery dead.
William Wordsworth
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears And humble cares, and delicate fears A heart, the fountain of sweet tears And love and thought and joy.
William Wordsworth
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
William Wordsworth
To be a Prodigal's favourite,then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,behold our lot.
William Wordsworth
Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
William Wordsworth
'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
William Wordsworth
The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world.
William Wordsworth
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