Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/91

 Because so long divided from the sphere. Restless it rolls and insecure, Trembling lest it should grow impure; 'Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again.

Thus the Soul, that drop, that ray Of the clear fountain of eternal day! Could it within the human flower be seen, Rememb"'ring still it's former height, Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green; And recollecting its own light, Does in its pure and circling thoughts express The greater heaven in an heaven less.

In how coy a figure wound, Every way it turns away: So the world excluding round Yet receiving-in the day: F 2