“The clouds that gather round the setting sun.
 Do take a sober colouring from an eye
 That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;
 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,   
To me the meanest flower that blows can give    
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

~ From ‘Ode on Intimations of Immortality’, William Wordsworth.

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