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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.
William Wordsworth -
I'm not talking about a "show me other walls of this thing" button, I mean a "stumble" button for wallbase.
William Wordsworth
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.
William Wordsworth -
Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
William Wordsworth -
And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
William Wordsworth -
Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
William Wordsworth -
Rest and be thankful.
William Wordsworth -
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
William Wordsworth
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Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
William Wordsworth -
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
William Wordsworth -
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
William Wordsworth -
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
William Wordsworth -
The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
William Wordsworth -
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
William Wordsworth
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
William Wordsworth -
And oft I thought (my fancy was-so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found: 'Here: will I dwell,' said I,' my whole life long, Roaming the illimitable waters round; Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned. And end my days upon the peaceful flood - To break my dream the vessel reached its bound; And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
William Wordsworth -
Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
William Wordsworth -
Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
William Wordsworth -
On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
William Wordsworth -
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
William Wordsworth
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Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
William Wordsworth -
Nature's old felicities.
William Wordsworth -
What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
William Wordsworth -
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: - feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.
William Wordsworth