Difficulty: Hard
Average Score: 35%
Our lives, dis-coloured with our present woes,
May still grow white, and smile with happier hours.
So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs, refines;
Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows.

Which of the following phrases from the passage presents an opinion rather than a fact?

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