When on my goodly charger borne The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, spins from brand and mail; I leave the plain, I climb the height; A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on joy that will not cease, Whose odours haunt my dreams, The clouds are broken in the sky, A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: "O just and faithful knight of God! Ride on the prize is near.' So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; ODE. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLEC TIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. The Child is Father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I. HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem 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. II. 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. III. Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, As to the tabor's sound To me alone there came a thought of grief: The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd Boy! IV. Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make, I see The heavens laugh with you in your Jubilee; My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss I feel I feel it all. And the Children are culling In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm: I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! -But there's a Tree, of many one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? V. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come Heaven lies about us in our infancy! But He beholds the light, and whence it flows The Youth, who daily farther from the East Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away VI. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; The homely Nurse doth all she can And that imperial palace whence he came. |