« PreviousContinue »
234 Resolution and Independence The Thorn .
241 Hartleap Well. Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle :
255 The Echo To a Skylark. It is no spirit who from heaven haih towa :
261 The Pass of Kirkstone. Evening Ode.
Lines written a few Miles above Tintern Abbey
273 To the Daisy .
275 The Hailstorm The Green Linnet The Contrast To the small Celandine To the same Flower The Waterfall and the Eglant The Oak and the Broom
286 Song for the Spinning Wheel The Redbreast and Butterfly
290 The Kitten and the Falling Leav
291 To the Daisy
295 To the same Flower
297 To a Sexton .
298 The Seven Sisters; or The Solitude of Binnorie
299 A Fragment .
301 Pilgrim's Dream; The Star and the Glowworm
303 Stray Pleasures To my Infant Daughter
ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY
FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled inacelestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore,
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,
The moon doth with delight
Waters on a starry night
But yet I know, where'er I go,
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
As to the tabor's sound,
And I again am strong:
And all the earth is gay ;
Land and sea
And with the heart of May
Thou child of joy,
Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make ; I see
My head hath its coronal,
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
This sweet May-morning,
On every side,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm ;
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear !
A single field which I have looked upon,
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar :
And not in utter nakedness,
From God, who is our home :
Upon the growing boy,
He sees it in his joy ;
Must travel, still is nature's priest,
Is on his way attended ;
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate man,
Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came.