Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/79

 Enwrap those infant floods! Through every nerve A sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fear Glides o'er my frame. The forest deepens round; And more gigantic still the impending trees Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom. Are these the confines of some faery world? A land of genii? Say beyond these wilds What unknown nations? If indeed beyond Aught habitable lies. And whither leads, To vrhat strange regions, or of bliss or pain. That subterraneous way? "Art of preserving Health" Armstrong. Rh