Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/41

33 My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;

And hope that is unwilling to be fed;

Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;

And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said,

My question eagerly did I renew,

"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"

He with a smile did then his words repeat;

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide

He travelled; stirring thus about his feet

The waters of the Ponds where they abide.

"Once I could meet with them on every side;

But they have dwindled long by slow decay;

Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."

While he was talking thus, the lonely place,

The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me:

In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace

About the weary moors continually,

Wandering about alone and silently.

While I these thoughts within myself pursued,

He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.