Never Withering

Splendor in The Grass - William Wordsworth. 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 splendor 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.