Saturday, April 26, 2014

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
Like harmony in music: there is a dark
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
Discordant elements, makes them cling together
In one society.  How strange, that all
The terrors, pains, and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself.  Praise to the end!

-- William Wordsworth
(from The Prelude)
(in Poetry for the Spirit, edited by Alan Jacobs)

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