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Authors:

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