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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
The child is father of the man.
That inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man;
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!
I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
hope so it is helpful..✌️❣️...
mark me as BRAINLIEST
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