Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/13

5 Of thoughts, that lie beyond the reach

Of thy few words of English speech:

A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife

That gives thy gestures grace and life!

So have I, not unmoved in mind,

Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,

Thus beating up against the wind.

What hand but would a garland cull

For thee who art so beautiful?

O happy pleasure! here to dwell

Beside thee in some heathy dell;

Adopt your homely ways and dress,

A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!

But I could frame a wish for thee

More like a grave reality:

Thou art to me but as a wave

Of the wild sea: and I would have

Some claim upon thee, if I could,

Though but of common neighbourhood.

What joy to hear thee, and to see!

Thy elder Brother I would be,

Thy Father, any thing to thee!