*̺
*throne
	Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne
	Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud--
	Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed;
	But all the steps and ground about were strown
	With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone
	Ever put on; a miserable crowd,
	Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
	"Thou art our king,
	O Death! to thee we groan."
	Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave
	Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
	Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,
	With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have
	Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
	A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
		[ Sonnet, by William Wordsworth ]
