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William Wordsworth - The VirginWilliam Wordsworth - The Virgin
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.   Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost    With the least shade of thought to sin allied.    Woman! above all women glorified,    Our tainted nature`s solitary boast;    Purer than foam on central ocean tost;    Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn    With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon    Before her wane begins on heaven`s blue coast;    Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,   Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,   As to a visible Power, in which did blend   All that was mixed and reconciled in thee   Of mother`s love with maiden purity,   Of high with low, celestial with terrene!
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