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    To Nature

    by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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    It may indeed be fantasy when I
    Essay to draw from all created things
    Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
    And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
    Lessons of love and earnest piety.
    So let it be; and if the wide world rings
    In mock of this belief, it brings
    Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
    So will I build my altar in the fields,
    And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
    And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
    Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
    Thee only God! and thou shalt not despise
    Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.
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