"they are of the sky,

And from our earthly memory fade away."

THOSE words were uttered as in pensive mood

We turned, departing from that solemn sight:

A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built
dome,

Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that
endure:

These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,

Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure. 1806.

COMPOSED BY THE SIDE OF

GRASMERE LAKE

1806.

CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid

bars

Through the grey west; and lo! these

waters, steeled

Running among the clouds a Woodnymph's race!

Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh

Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!

The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase,

Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be:

And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven,

Should sally forth, to keep thee company, Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven.

But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given,

Queen both for beauty and for majesty.

1806.

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON"

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our

powers:

We have given our hearts away, a sordid

boon!

The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?

Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the inquiry?-Neither friend
nor foe

She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were
rare,

(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here

and there

Crossing the waters) doubt, and something

dark,

Of the old Sea some reverential fear, Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark! 1806.

TO SLEEP

O GENTLE SLEEP! do they belong to thee, These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love

To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove,
A captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to

me

A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove

Upon a fretful rivulet, now above
Now on the water vexed with mockery.
I have no pain that calls for patience, no;
Hence am I cross and peevish as a child :
Am pleased by fits to have thee for my
foe,

Yet ever willing to be reconciled:
O gentle Creature! do not use me so,
But once and deeply let me be beguiled.
1806.

TO SLEEP

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and

seas,

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;

I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless! and soon the small birds'

melodies

Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.

LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are
gone,

A mighty unison of streams!
Of all her Voices, One!

Loud is the Vale;-this inland Depth
In peace is roaring like the Sea
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load!1
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;

And many thousands now are sad-
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay,
Their glory disappear.

A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart
What is it more than this-