-William Wordsworth

What though the radiance which was once so brightBe not forever taken from my sight,Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;Grief not, rather find,Strength in what remains behind,In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be,In the soothing thoughts that springOut of Human suffering,In the faith that looks through deathIn years that bring philophic mind.