Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory we do come From God, who is our home: 5 Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; 10 The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must trayel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, 15 And fade into the light of common day. 20 20 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; The homely nurse doth all she can 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, 335 40 A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Ere this be thrown aside, 5 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? 30 O joy! that in our embers The thought of our past years in me doth breed For that which is most worthy to be blest, 35 Delight and liberty, the simple creed 40 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, 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; 15 20 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- 3309 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 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 CCCXXXIX 5 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 |