May mount into the sky! The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart : I look-the sky is empty space; I know not what I trace; But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, It robs my heart of peace. Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit, Upon that alder sit; Or sing another song, or choose another tree. Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustained; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Oh let it then be dumb! Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now. Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers, For thus to see thee nodding in the air, Thus rise and thus descend, Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear." The Man who makes this feverish complaint 1800 IX SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind— Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss ?—That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, X FLOWERS ERE yet our course was graced with social trees I saw them ply their harmless robberies, There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness ; The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue, The thyme her purple, like the blush of Even ; And if the breath of some to no caress ΧΙ I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, A host, of golden daffodils ; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Continuous as the stars that shine Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they In such a jocund company: I gazed and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought : For oft, when on my couch I lie XII TO THE DAISY IN youth from rock to rock I went, Most pleased when most uneasy; Thee Winter in the garland wears Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, |