CXXXVI. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850. HE dwelt among the untrodden ways SHE Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; The difference to me. CXXXVII. O TO THE CUCKOO. BLITHE new-comer! I have heard, I hear thee, and rejoice. O Cuckoo shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice? While I am lying on the grass From hill to hill it seems to pass, Though babbling only to the vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget O blessed bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial faery place; That is fit home for thee! CXXXVIII. HE was a phantom of delight SHE When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament: Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's too her dusky hair; I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty; A countenance in which did meet For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene With something of angelic light. CXXXIX. A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, CXL. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed-and gazed--but little thought |