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The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 1 by William Wordsworth
page 264 of 675 (39%)
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground [66] I for my bed have often used:
But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth,
Is that I have my inner self abused,
Forgone the home delight of constant truth, 440
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.


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"Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed,
Through tears have seen him towards that world descend [67]
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
Three years a wanderer now my course I bend--[68] 445
Oh! tell me whither--for no earthly friend
Have I."--She ceased, and weeping turned away;
As if because her tale was at an end,
She wept; because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. 450


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True sympathy the Sailor's looks expressed,
His looks--for pondering he was mute the while.
Of social Order's care for wretchedness,
Of Time's sure help to calm and reconcile,
Joy's second spring and Hope's long-treasured smile, 455
'Twas not for _him_ to speak--a man so tried.
Yet, to relieve her heart, in friendly style
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