Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome, The immortal Mind craves objects that endure: These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam, Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure. XXXVII COMPOSED BY THE SIDE OF GRASMERE LAKE CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars A vivid repetition of the stars; Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars At happy distance from earth's groaning field, Is it a mirror?-or the nether Sphere Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!" XXXVIII THE stars are mansions built by Nature's hand, Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest ; A habitation marvellously planned, All that we see-is dome, or vault,' or nest, Glad thought for every season! but the Spring XXXIX WANSFELL! this Household has a favoured lot, To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays, Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise E Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest. XL Dec. 24, 1842 TO SLEEP I FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown, TO SLEEP II A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? XLI MARK the concentred hazels that enclose Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose Among the lonely mountains.-Live, ye trees! And thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep: For more than Fancy to the influence bends To mimic Time's forlorn humanities. XLII It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: |