Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/326

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flower, whose home is every where!

A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care,

And all the long year through the heir

Of joy or sorrow,

Methinks that there abides in thee

Some concord with humanity,

Given to no other Flower I see

The forest thorough!

Is it that Man is soon deprest?

A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest,

Does little on his memory rest,

Or on his reason,

And Thou would'st teach him how to find

A shelter under every wind,

A hope for times that are unkind

And every season?