Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/287

279 And one green Island, gleam between the stems

Of the dark firs, a visionary scene;

And, while I gaze upon the spectacle

Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight

Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee,

My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost.

Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou,

Muttering the Verses which I muttered first

Among the mountains, through the midnight watch

Art pacing to and fro the Vessel's deck

In some far region, here, while o'er my head

At every impulse of the moving breeze

The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound,

Alone I tread this path;—for aught I know,

Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store

Of undistinguishable sympathies,

Mingling most earnest wishes for the day

When we, and others whom we love, shall meet

A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale.