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Poem by William Wordsworth


To Mary


Let other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing:
Rejoice that thou art not!

Heed not tho' none should call thee fair;
So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved. 



William Wordsworth


William Wordsworth's other poems:
  1. Monastery of Old Bangor
  2. Miserrimus
  3. Hart-Leap Well
  4. Inscription Intended for a Stone in the Grounds of Rydal Mount
  5. Mary Queen of Scots


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Percy Shelley To Mary ("How, my dear Mary, -- are you critic-bitten")
  • William Cowper To Mary ("The twentieth year is well nigh past")
  • John Clare To Mary ("I sleep with thee, and wake with thee")
  • Robert Anderson To Mary ("Exil'd frae thee, and ilka mead")
  • William Thackeray To Mary ("I seem, in the midst of the crowd")
  • Charles Wolfe To Mary ("If I had thought thou couldst have died")

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