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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
William Wordsworth
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Interpretation

What this quote means

The quote reflects on forgiveness and the release from earthly struggles and suffering.

In this quote, William Wordsworth expresses the idea that through mercy and forgiveness, one can transcend the struggles and pains of earthly existence. The minstrel symbolizes a soul that, despite past conflicts and sorrows, finds solace and redemption, ultimately leading to a state of peace beyond this life.

Themes

ForgivenessMercyStruggleRedemptionPeace

In practice

Example use cases

In a speech about personal growth, one might say, 'As Wordsworth wrote, sweet mercy leads us to forgiveness and peace.'

More from William Wordsworth

For mightier far_x000D_ _x000D_ Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway_x000D_ _x000D_ Of magic potent over sun and star,_x000D_ _x000D_ Is love, though oft to agony distrest,_x000D_ _x000D_ And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
William WordsworthRead
By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
William WordsworthRead
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,_x000D_ _x000D_ The earth, and every common sight,_x000D_ _x000D_ To me did seem_x000D_ _x000D_ Apparelled in celestial light,_x000D_ _x000D_ The glory and the freshness of a dream.
William WordsworthRead
Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
William WordsworthRead
The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune.
William WordsworthRead
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
William WordsworthRead

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