WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
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, Yc 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 remain^ 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 relinquish'd one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway.
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