Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/369

309 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,

The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,

Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

Confound my present feelings with the past,

Even then, when from the bower I turned away

Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,

I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees and the intruding sky.—

Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades

In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand

Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.