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
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.
To ......, In Her Seventieth Year
William Wordsworth
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Poem topics: beautiful, child, light, moon, nature, night, winter, evening, head, soul, earth, meek, white, bright, mind, lady, prime, compare, crystal, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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