« AnteriorContinuar »
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF
The Child is father of the Man;
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore ;-
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ;
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all.
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm :—
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
And cometh from afar :
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
At length the Man perceives it die away,
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
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.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
To dialogues of business, love, or strife:
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise ;
But for those obstinate questionings
But for those first affections,
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,