How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
Waft her to glory, winged Powers,
Ere sorrow be renewed,
And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring back a humbler mood!
So looked Cecilia when she drew
An Angel from his station;
So looked; not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration!
But hand and voice alike are still;
No sound 'here' sweeps away the will
That gave it birth: in service meek
One upright arm sustains the cheek,
And one across the bosom lies
That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Subdued by breathless harmonies
Of meditative feeling;
Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies,
Through the pure light of female eyes,
Their sanctity revealing!
How Rich That Forehead's Calm Expanse
William Wordsworth
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Poem topics: angel, away, birth, heaven, light, rose, sorrow, voice, meek, rise, bright, bring, pure, service, mood, female, sound, sanctity, harmonies, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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