Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works
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TO ------, IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR

          SUCH age how beautiful! O Lady bright,
          Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined
          By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind
          To something purer and more exquisite
          Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight,
          When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek,
          Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white,
          And head that droops because the soul is meek,
          Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare;
          That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb         10
          From desolation toward the genial prime;
          Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air,
          And filling more and more with crystal light
          As pensive Evening deepens into night.
                                                              1827.


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