Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/148

88 Recovery came with food: but still my brain

Was weak, nor of the past had memory.

I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain

Of many things which never troubled me;

Of feet still bustling round with busy glee;

Of looks where common kindness had no part;

Of service done with careless cruelty,

Fretting the fever round the languid heart;

And groans, which, as they said, might make a dead man start.

These things just served to stir the torpid sense,

Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.

My memory and my strength returned; and thence

Dismissed, again on open day I gazed,

At houses, men, and common light, amazed.

The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired,

Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;

The Travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired,

And gave me food,—and rest, more welcome, mor edesired [sic].

They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made

Of Potters wandering on from door to door:

But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed,

And other joys my fancy to allure;