william wordsworthun siiri.
she was a phantom of delight
when first she gleamd upon my sight;
a lovely apparition, sent
to be a moments ornament;
her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
like twilights, too, her dusky hair;
but all things else about her drawn
from maytime and the cheerful dawn;
a dancing shape, an image gay,
to haunt, to startle, and waylay.
i saw her upon nearer view,
a spirit, yet a woman too!
her household motions light and free,
and steps of virgin liberty;
a countenance in which did meet
sweet records, promises as sweet;
a creature not too bright or good
for human natures daily food;
for transient sorrows, simple wiles,
praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
and now i see with eye serene
the very pulse of the machine;
a being breathing thoughtful breath,
a traveller between life and death;
the reason firm, the temperate will,
endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
a perfect woman, nobly plannd,
to warm, to comfort, and command;
and yet a spirit still, and bright
with something of angelic light.
perfect woman
robot süpürge
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