Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/205

145 To wicked deeds I was inclined,

And wicked fancies crossed my mind;

And every man I chanced to see,

I thought he knew some ill of me.

No peace, no comfort could I find,

No ease, within doors or without;

And crazily, and wearily,

I went my work about.

Oft-times I thought to run away;

For me it was a woeful day.

Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,

As dear as my own Children be;

For daily with my growing store

I loved my Children more and more.

Alas! it was an evil time;

God cursed me in my sore distress;

I prayed, yet every day I thought

I loved my Children less;

And every week, and every day,

My flock, it seemed to melt away.