WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Hence in a season of calm weather

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May !

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind ;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,

Forebode not any severing of our loves !

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;

I only have relinquished one delight

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