Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/190

138 LOVE.

All Thoughts, all Passions, all Delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal Frame,

All are but Ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,

When midway on the Mount I lay

Beside the Ruin'd Tower.

The Moonshine stealing o'er the scene

Had blended with the Lights of Eve;

And she was there, my Hope, my Joy,

My own dear Genevieve!