Words from Wordsworth and from a Friend.

This poem was sent to me  by Berowne, a writer and a friend.

He sent it as a comment to the previous post: “A Passage of Time, The Fruits of Contemplation”.  I find it such a fitting reflection of  my feelings right now, my own contemplation, — I just had to put it on the blog face.

Too much beauty to bury in comments.

Thank you, Berowne.

Lady Nyo

Not useless do I deem
These quiet sympathies with things that hold
an inarticulate language, for those
Once taught to love such objects as excite
No morbid passions, no disquietude,
No vengeance and no hatred, needs must feel
The joy of that pure principle of love
So deeply that, unsatisfied with aught
Less pure and exquisite, they cannot choose
But seek for objects of a kindred love
In fellow-natures, and a kindred joy.


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