William Wordsworth: The Sonnet i
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The Sonnet i

1770-1850

NUNS fret not at their convent's narrow room,
         And hermits are contented with their cells,
         And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
         High as the highest peak of Furness fells,
         Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison unto which we doom
Ourselves no prison is: and hence for me,
         In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
         Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
         Should find brief solace there, as I have found.


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DayPoems Poem No. 485



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