312 ordspråk av William Wordsworth
William Wordsworth
She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight.
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Small circles glittering idly in the moon,/ Until they melted all into one track/ Of sparkling light.
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Small service is true service, while it lasts.
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So build we up the being that we are.
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So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!
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Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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Soft is the music that would charm for ever;
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.
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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
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Some sipping punch, some sipping tea,/ But, as you by their faces see,/ All silent and all damned!
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Something between a hindrance and a help.
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Stepping westward seemed to be/ A kind of heavenly destiny.
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Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!/ O Duty! if that name thou love/ Who art a light to guide, a rod/ To check the erring and reprove.
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Stern winter loves a dirge-like sound.
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Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies.
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