The thought of her was like a flash of light,įavourite of all, in this the most of all.A limited edition copy of William Wordsworth's uncommon poem about his new home with his sister, intended to be part of his epic poem 'The Recluse'. Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang, Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts,ĭivides with me this loved abode, was there, Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er Oh, if such silence be not thanks to Godįor what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Pause upon that and let the breathing frame That made the calmest fairest spot of earthĮntrenched, say rather peacefully embowered,Īy, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir, Less timid than desire-but that is past.īy Reason sanctioned. Have been to me more bountiful than hope, Thy apprehensions-blush thou for them all.Īs we pronounce them, doing them much wrong, Thy prudence, thy experience, thy desires,
Take up, the cloud-capt hills repeat, the Name)Īnd was the cost so great? and could it seemĪ conquest? who must bear the blame? Sage man That no self-cherished sadness could withstand Īnd now 'tis mine, perchance for life, dear Vale,īeloved Grasmere (let the wandering streams Mistakes for sorrow, darting beams of light Of the gay mind, as ofttimes splenetic youth When present, to the bodily sense a hauntĪ brighter joy and through such damp and gloom Was that same young and happy Being) became Since that day forth the Place to him-'to me' Must be his home, this valley be his world. Within the bound of this huge concave here To flit from field to rock, from rock to field,įrom shore to island, and from isle to shore,įrom high to low, from low to high, yet still Such power and joy but only for this end, The illusion strengthening as he gazed, he felt Without restraint of all which they behold. Of fluttering sylphs and softly-gliding Fays,
Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds Of grass or corn, over and through and through, Pursue each other through the yielding plain That sail on winds: of breezes that delight The station whence he looked was soft and green,īut stirring to the spirit who could gazeĪnd not feel motions there? He thought of clouds Scarcely a wish, but one bright pleasing thought, 'What happy fortune were it here to live! His haste, for hasty had his footsteps beenĪs boyish his pursuits and sighing said, He well remembers, though the year be gone. Hath now escaped his memory-but the hour, ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier cameĪ roving school-boy what the adventurer's age
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