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1770–1850

I

William Wordsworth

I saw the figure of a lovely Maid Seated alone beneath a darksome tree, Whose fondly-overhanging canopy Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.

No Spirit was she; thatmy heart betrayed, For she was one I loved exceedingly; But while I gazed in tender reverie ( Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played? )

The bright corporeal presence — form and face — Remaining still distinct grew thin and rare, Like sunny mist;— at length the golden hair, Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace

Each with the other in a lingering race Of dissolution, melted into air.

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I · William Wordsworth · Poetry Cove