Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/64

56 In April here beneath the scented thorn

He heard the birds their morning carols sing;

And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born

Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.

But now here's neither grass nor pleasant shade;

The sun on drearier Hollow never shone;

So will it be, as I have often said,

Till Trees, and Stones, and Fountain all are gone."

"Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;

Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:

This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell;

His death was mourned by sympathy divine.

The Being, that is in the clouds and air,

That is in the green leaves among the groves,

Maintains a deep and reverential care

For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

The Pleasure-house is dust:—behind, before,

This is no common waste, no common gloom;

But Nature, in due course of time, once more

Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.