William Wordsworth

 William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
    HE was a phantom of delight
    When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
    A lovely apparition, sent
    To be a moment's ornament;
    Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
    Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
    But all things else about her drawn
    From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
    A dancing shape, an image gay,
    To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
    I saw her upon nearer view,
    A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
    Her household motions light and free,
    And steps of virgin liberty;
    A countenance in which did meet
    Sweet records, promises as sweet;
    A creature not too bright or good
    For human nature's daily food;
    For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
    Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
    And now I see with eye serene
    The very pulse of the machine;
    A being breathing thoughtful breath,
    A traveller between life and death;
    The reason firm, the temperate will,
    Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
    A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light.

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