Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/93

85 Thou seest,—and he would gaze till it became

Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain

The beauty still more beauteous. Nor, that time,

When Nature had subdued him to herself,

Would he forget those beings, to whose minds,

Warm from the labours of benevolence,

The world, and man himself, appeared a scene

Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh

With mournful joy, to think that others felt

What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!

On visionary views would fancy feed,

Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale

He died,—this seat his only monument.

If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms

Of young imagination have kept pure,

Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride,

Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,

Is littleness; that he who feels contempt

For any living thing, hath faculties

Which he has never used; that thought with him

Is in its infancy. The man whose eye

Is ever on himself doth look on one,

The least of Nature's works, one who might move