Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/344

284 Who was blest as bird could be,

Feeding in the apple-tree;

Made such wanton spoil and rout,

Turning blossoms inside out;

Hung with head towards the ground,

Flutter'd, perch'd, into a round

Bound himself, and then unbound;

Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!

Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!

Light of heart, and light of limb,

What is now become of Him?

Lambs, that through the mountains went

Frisking, bleating merriment,

When the year was in its prime,

They are sobered by this time.

If you look to vale or hill,

If you listen, all is still,

Save a little neighbouring Rill,

That from out the rocky ground

Strikes a solitary sound.

Vainly glitters hill and plain,

And the air is calm in vain;

Vainly Morning spreads the lure

Of a sky serene and pure;