Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTHFill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
More William Wordsworth Quotes
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Great men have been among us; hands that penn’d and tongues that utter’d wisdom.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.
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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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The memory of the just survives in Heaven.
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With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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A tale in everything.
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But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
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That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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There is creation in the eye.
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Mathematics is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH