William Wordsworth

To The Memory Of Raisley Calvert

CALVERT! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name, that I to thee Owed many years of early liberty. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem-- That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Where'er I liked; and finally array My temples with the Muse's diadem. Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth; If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays Of higher mood, which now I meditate;-- It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived, Youth! To think how much of this will be thy praise.

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