THE world is too much with us: late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours;
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; For this, for everything we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn, Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow its wreathèd horn.
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE.
EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep And all that mighty heart is lying still!
IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven is on the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly.
Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st, untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature therefore is not less divine: Thou liest" in Abraham's bosom " all the year; And worshipp'st at the temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.
THE shepherd, looking eastward, softly said "Bright is thy veil, O moon, as thou art bright!" Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread, And penetrated all with tender light,
She cast away, and showed her fulgent head Uncovered; dazzling the beholder's sight As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Her beauty thoughtlessly disparagèd.
Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, Went floating from her, darkening as it went; And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, Approached this glory of the firmament; Who meekly yields, and is obscured-content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.
THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed, If Thou the spirit give by which I pray : My unassisted heart is barren clay,
Which of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works Thou art the seed, Which quickens only where Thou say'st it may, Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way, No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of Thee, And sound Thy praises everlastingly.
"THE SHEPHERD, LOOKING EASTWARD, SOFTLY SAID, 'BRIGHT IS THY VEIL, O MOON, AS THOU ART BRIGHT!"-Page 248.
MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse. With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,
The mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
WHERE lies the land to which yon ship must go? Festively she puts forth in trim array;
As vigorous as a lark at break of day.
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!
HER only pilot the soft breeze, the boat Lingers, but Fancy is well satisfied;
With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side. And the glad Muse at liberty to note
All that to each is precious, as we float Gently along; regardless who shall chide If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide, Happy Associates breathing air remote From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse, Why have I crowded this small bark with you
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