
Do thou, if gratitude inspire thy breast,
Spurn the soft fetters of lethargic rest.
Awake, awake! and snatch the slumbering lyre,
Let this bright morn and Sandys the song inspire.
I looked obedience: the celestial Fair
Smiled like the morn, and vanished into air.
- William Wordsworth, from "Lines Written as a School Exercise"
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