Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/118

66 Some silent laws our hearts may make,

Which they shall long obey;

We for the year to come may take

Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls

About, below, above;

We'll frame the measure of our souls,

They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my sister! come, I pray,

With speed put on your woodland dress,

And bring no book; for this one day

We'll give to idleness.