William Wordsworth

Upon Perusing The Forgoing Epistle

Thirty Years After Its Composition

SOON did he Almighty Giver of all rest Take those dear young Ones to a fearless nest; And in Death's arms has long reposed the Friend For whom this simple Register was penned. Thanks to the moth that spared it for our eyes; And Strangers even the slighted Scroll may prize, Moved by the touch of kindred sympathies. For--save the calm, repentance sheds o'er strife Raised by remembrances of misused life, The light from past endeavours purely willed And by Heaven's favour happily fulfilled; Save hope that we, yet bound to Earth, may share The joys of the Departed--what so fair As blameless pleasure, not without some tears, Reviewed through Love's transparent veil of years?

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