Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/393

333 There's a Cripple who leans on his Crutch; like a Tower

That long has lean'd forward, leans hour after hour!—

A Mother, whose Spirit in fetters is bound,

While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound.

Now, Coaches and Chariots, roar on like a stream;

Here are twenty souls happy as Souls in a dream:

They are deaf to your murmurs—they care not for you,

Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue!