Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/340

280 Man and Maidens wheel,

They themselves make the Reel,

And their Music's a prey which they seize;

It plays not for them,—what matter! 'tis theirs;

And if they had care it has scattered their cares,

While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"

They dance not for me,

Yet mine is their glee!

Thus pleasure is spread through the earth

In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find;

Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind,

Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.

The Showers of the Spring

Rouze the Birds, and they sing;

If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight,

Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss;

Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his Brother;

They are happy, for that is their right!