Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/69



Hail, mildly-pleasing Solitude, Companion of the wise and good; But from whose holy, piercing eye The herd of fools and villains Hy. Oh! how I love with thee to walk And listen to thy whisper'd talk, Thine is the balmy breath of morn, Just as the dew-bent rose is born; And while meridian fervors beat, Thine is the woodland dumb retreat; But chief when evening scenes decay And the faint landscape swims away, Thine is the doubtful soft decline, And that best hour of musing thine. Rh