Wordsworth Read Online Free PDF Page B

made, and is become
    A tempest, a redundant energy
    Vexing its own creation. ’Tis a power
    That does not come unrecogniz’d, a storm,
    Which, breaking up a long-continued frost
    50     Brings with it vernal promises, the hope
    Of active days, of dignity and thought,
    Of prowess in an honorable field,
    Pure passions, virtue, knowledge, and delight,
    The holy life of music and of verse.
    55         Thus far, O Friend! did I, not used to make
    A present joy the matter of my Song,
    Pour out, that day, my soul in measur’d strains,
    Even in the very words which I have here
    Recorded: to the open fields I told
    60     A prophecy: poetic numbers came
    Spontaneously, and cloth’d in priestly robe
    My spirit, thus singled out, as it might seem,
    For holy services: great hopes were mine;
    My own voice chear’d me, and, far more, the mind’s
    65     Internal echo of the imperfect sound;
    To both I listen’d, drawing from them both
    A chearful confidence in things to come.
        Whereat, being not unwilling now to give
    A respite to this passion, I paced on
    70     Gently, with careless steps; and came, erelong,
    To a green shady place where down I sate
    Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by choice,
    And settling into gentler happiness.
    ’Twas Autumn, and a calm and placid day,
    75     With warmth as much as needed from a sun
    Two hours declin’d towards the west, a day
    With silver clouds, and sunshine on the grass,
    And, in the shelter’d grove where I was couch’d
    A perfect stillness. On the ground I lay
    80     Passing through many thoughts, yet mainly such
    As to myself pertain’d. I made a choice
    Of one sweet Vale whither my steps should turn
    And saw, methought, the very house and field
    Present before my eyes: nor did I fail
    85     To add, meanwhile, assurance of some work
    Of glory, there forthwith to be begun,
    Perhaps, too, there perform’d. Thus long I lay
    Chear’d by the genial pillow of the earth
    Beneath my head, sooth’d by a sense of touch
    90     From the warm ground, that balanced me, else lost
    Entirely, seeing nought, nought hearing, save
    When here and there, about the grove of Oaks
    Where was my bed, an acorn from the trees
    Fell audibly, and with a startling sound.
    95         Thus occupied in mind, I linger’d here
    Contented, nor rose up until the sun
    Had almost touch’d the horizon, bidding then
    A farewell to the City left behind,
    Even with the chance equipment of that hour
    100   I journey’d towards the Vale that I had chosen.
    It was a splendid evening; and my soul
    Did once again make trial of the strength
    Restored to her afresh; nor did she want
    Eolian visitations; but the harp
    105   Was soon defrauded, and the banded host
    Of harmony dispers’d in straggling sounds
    And, lastly, utter silence. ‘Be it so,
    It is an injury,’ said I, ‘to this day
    To think of any thing but present joy.’
    110   So like a Peasant I pursued my road
    Beneath the evening sun, nor had one wish
    Again to bend the sabbath of that time
    To a servile yoke. What need of many words?
    A pleasant loitering journey, through two days
    115   Continued, brought me to my hermitage.
        I spare to speak, my Friend, of what ensued,
    The admiration and the love, the life
    In common things; the endless store of things
    Rare, or at least so seeming, every day
    120   Found all about me in one neighbourhood,
    The self-congratulation, the complete
    Composure, and the happiness entire.
    But speedily a longing in me rose
    To brace myself to some determin’d aim,
    125   Reading or thinking, either to lay up
    New stores, or rescue from decay the old
    By timely interference, I had hopes
    Still higher, that with a frame of outward life,
    I might endue, might fix in a visible home
    130   Some portion of those phantoms of conceit
    That had been floating loose about so long,
    And to such Beings temperately deal forth
    The many feelings that