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His little, nameless, unremembered acts

Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

To them I may have owed another gift,

Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

In which the burden of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight

Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood,

In which the affections gently lead us on, —

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame,

And even the motion of our human blood,

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power

Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,

We see into the life of things.

I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing

oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of

ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have

felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:

A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all

thought, And rolls through all things.

[From Lines Composed a Few Miles Above
Tintern Abbey.)

APOSTROPHE TO THE POETS
SIS TER.

Thou art with me, here, upon the banks

Of this fair river; thou, my dearest friend.

My dear, dear friend, and in thy

voice I catch The language of my former heart,

and read

My former pleasures in the shooting lights

Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while

May I behold in thee what I was once,

My dear, dear sister! And this prayer I make,

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: 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. Therefore let

the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain winds be

free

To blow against thee: and, in after years,

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind

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