IT may be for the world of weeds and tares And dearth in Nature of sweet Beauty`s rose That oft as Fortune from ten thousand shows One from the train of Love`s true courtiers Straightway on him who gazes, unawares, Deep wonder seizes and swift trembling grows, Reft by that sight of purpose and repose, Hardly its weight his fainting breast upbears. Then on the soul from some ancestral place Floods back remembrance of its heavenly birth, When, in the light of that serener sphere, It saw ideal beauty face to face That through the forms of this our meaner Earth Shines with a beam less steadfast and less clear.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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