Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep
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bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing, ,Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathingA flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the nhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darken’d waysMade for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pallFrom our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rillsThat 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 We have imagined for the mighty dead ;
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