Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/298

238 If stately passions in me burn,

And one chance look to Thee should turn,

I drink out of an humbler urn

A lowlier pleasure;

The homely sympathy that heeds

The common life, our nature breeds:

A wisdom fitted to the needs

Of hearts at leisure.

When, smitten by the morning ray,

I see thee rise alert and gay,

Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play

With kindred gladness:

And when, at dusk, by dews opprest

Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest

Hath often eased my pensive breast

Of careful sadness.

And all day long I number yet,

All seasons through, another debt,

Which I, wherever thou art met,

To thee am owing;