"And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."
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Stanza 11
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Ode%3A_Intimations_of_Immortality
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Ode: Intimations of Immortality
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood was a poem by William Wordsworth, begun on March 27, 1802 and finished by 1806, possibly in early 1804. Wordsworth declared: "Two years at least passed between the writing of the four first stanzas and the remaining part".
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