Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/59

 By the murmur of a spring Or the least boughs rusteling; By a daisy whose leaves spread Shut when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree She could more infuse in me, Than all nature's beauties can In some other wiser. By her help I also now Make this churlish place allow Some things that may sweeten gladness, In the very gall of sadness. The dull loneness, the black shade That these hanging vaults have made, The strange music of the waves, Beating on these hollow caves; This black den which rocks emboss Overgrown with eldest moss D 2