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Not in entire forgetfulness,
But trailing clouds of glory we do come
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
10 The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away, 15 And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
The homely nurse doth all she can
Forget the glories he hath known,
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 25 A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 30 Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learnéd art; A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
Ere this be thrown aside,
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his humorous stage'
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
On whom those truths do rest
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,
20 Thou little child, yet glorious in the might
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
O joy! that in our embers
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest,
35 Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:-
The song of thanks and praise;
Of sense and outward things,
Moving about in worlds not realized,
5 High instincts, before which our mortal nature
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may, 10 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Hence, in a season of calm weather
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Can in a moment travel thither-
Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
As to the tabor's sound!
We, in thought, will join your throng
Ye that through your hearts to-day
What though the radiance which was once so bright 35 Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
In the faith that looks through death,
5 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forbode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
To live beneath your more habitual sway:
10 I love the brooks which down their channels fret
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 15 Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 20 To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. W. Wordsworth
Music, when soft voices die,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone,
P. B. Shelley