Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/114

Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispence
With death. That when ability expires,
Desire still lives—So much delight they have,
To carry toil and travel to the grave.
⁠Whose ends you see; and what can be the best
They reach unto, when they have cast the sum
And reckonings of their glory. And you know,
This floating life hath but this port of rest,
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come.
And that mans greatness rests but in his show.
The best of all whose days consumed are 111
Either in war or peace-conceiving war.
⁠This concord, Madam, of a well-tuned mind
Hath been so set by that all-working Hand
Of Heaven, that though the world hath done his worst
To put it out by discords most unkind;
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man; nor ever will be forced