"Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils."
"Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity."
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Source: William Wordsworth (1994). “The Collected Poems of William Wordsworth”, p.698, Wordsworth Editions
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