Friday, February 10, 2012

The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet;

Wordsworth, I love thee!
One of my favourite poems from him -- helped me out a couple weeks back.
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Says something precious about human life; of all senses that bring us to it.
So lovely, wonderful to pick up in times of grief.

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