312 ordspråk av William Wordsworth
William Wordsworth
The child is father of the man
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The child is father of the man;/ And I could wish my days to be/ Bound each to each by natural piety.
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The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me, -- her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
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The cottage which was named the Evening Star/ Is gone.
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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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The Eagle, he was lord above
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The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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The good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket
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The grim shape/ Towered up between me and the stars, and still,/ For so it seemed, with purpose of its own/ And measured motion like a living thing,/ Strode after me.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration.
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The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
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The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
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