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SONNET WRITTEN IN TINTERN ABBEY, MONMOUTHSHIRE, by                    
First Line: Stranger,whoe'er though art, whose lingering feet
Last Line: Of man, -- the temple of a shorter date.


Admiring stranger, that with ling'ring feet,
Enchained by wonder, pauses on this green;
Where thy enraptured sight the dark woods meet,
Ah! rest awhile, and contemplate the scene.

These hoary pillars clasped by ivy round,
This hallowed floor by holy footsteps trod,
The mold'ring choir by spreading moss embrowned,
Where fasting saints devoutly hymned their God.

Unpitying Time, with slow but certain sweep,
Has laid, alas! their ancient splendor low:
Yet here let pilgrims, while they muse and weep,
Think on the lesson that from hence may flow.
Like theirs, how soon may be the tottering state
Of man, -- the temple of a shorter date.





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