Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/40



Deep lines of honor all can hit, Or mark out a superior wit; Consummate goodness all can show And where such graces shine below: But the more tender strokes to trace, To express the promise of a face, When but the dawnings of the mind. We from an air unripen'd find; Which altering, as new moments rise. The pen or pencil's art defies; When flesh and blood in youth appears, Polish'd like what our marble wears; Fresh as that shade of opening green,

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