Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/150

90 I led a wandering life among the fields;

Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,

I lived upon what casual bounty yields,

Now coldly given, now utterly refused.

The ground I for my bed have often used:

But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth

Is, that I have my inner self abused,

Forgone the home delight of constant truth,

And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.

Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd,

In tears, the sun towards that country tend

Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:

And now across this moor my steps I bend—

Oh! tell me whitherfor no earthly friend

Have I."She ceased, and weeping turned away,

As if because her tale was at an end

She wept;—because she had no more to say

Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.