Great poetry of William Wordsworth
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Poem by William Wordsworth

Grief, thou hast lost an ever-ready friend

Now that the cottage Spinning-wheel is mute;

And Care, a comforter that best could suit

Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend;

And Love, a charmer’s voice, that used to lend,

More efficaciously than aught that flows

From harp or lute, kind influence to compose

The throbbing pulse, else troubled without end:

Even Joy could tell, Joy craving truce and rest

From her own overflow, what power sedate

On those revolving motions did await

Assiduously to soothe her aching breast;

And, to a point of just relief, abate

The mantling triumphs of a day too blest.

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