Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/266

206 And grossly that man errs, who should suppose

That the green Valleys, and the Streams and Rocks

Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts.

Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed

The common air; the hills, which he so oft

Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had impressed

So many incidents upon his mind

Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;

Which like a book preserved the memory

Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,

Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts,

So grateful in themselves, the certainty

Of honorable gains; these fields, these hills,

Which were his living Being, even more

Than his own blood—what could they less? had laid

Strong hold on his affections, were to him

A pleasurable feeling of blind love,

The pleasure which there is in life itself.

He had not passed his days in singleness.

His Helpmate was a comely Matron, old—

Though younger than himself full twenty years.

She was a woman of a stirring life,

Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had