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A THING of beauty is a joy forever: | |
Its loveliness increases; it will never | |
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep | |
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep | |
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. | 5 |
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing | |
A flowery band to bind us to the earth, | |
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth | |
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, | |
Of all the unhealthy and oer-darkened ways | 10 |
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, | |
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall | |
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, | |
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon | |
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils | 15 |
With the green world they live in; and clear rills | |
That for themselves a cooling covert make | |
Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, | |
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: | |
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms | 20 |
We have imagined for the mighty dead; | |
All lovely tales that we have heard or read: | |
An endless fountain of immortal drink, | |
Pouring unto us from the heavens brink. | |
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