What though the radiance

which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken

from my sight,

Though nothing can bring

back the hour

Of splendour in the grass,

of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not,

rather find Strength

in what remains behind;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

William Wordsworth