Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/395

335 The dewy ground was dark and cold;

Behind, all gloomy to behold;

And stepping westward seem'd to be

A kind of heavenly destiny:

I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound

Of something without place or bound;

And seemed to give me spiritual right

To travel through that region bright.

The voice was soft, and she who spake

Was walking by her native Lake:

The salutation had to me

The very sound of courtesy:

Its power was felt; and while my eye

Was fixed upon the glowing sky,

The echo of the voice enwrought

A human sweetness with the thought

Of travelling through the world that lay

Before me in my endless way.