Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/60

 The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect; From all these and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight. Therefore thou best, earthly bliss I will cherish thee for this,— Poesy!—thou sweetest content That e'er heaven to mortals lent Though they as a trifle leave thee Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee; Though thou be to them a scorn That to nought but earth art born; Let my Life no longer be Than I am in love with thee;

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