Splendour in the grass ( stanza 10 from Ode: Intimations of Immortality ) by William Wordsworth(posted 9101 days ago)10 Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabors sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! 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.