William Wordsworth Quotes About Nature
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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Let Nature be your teacher
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.
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Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
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. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.
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Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
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Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
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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.
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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.
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I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.
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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 streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
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One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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"One impulse from a vernal wood
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In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air.
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I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.
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Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
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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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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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Nature's old felicities.
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To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
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