Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/175

149 So pitiably, that, having ceased to see

With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love

Of what is lost, and perish through regret.

Oh! no, full oft the innocent Sufferer sees

Too clearly; feels too vividly; and longs

To realize the Vision with intense

And overconstant yearning—there—there lies

The excess, by which the balance is destroyed.

Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh,

This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs,

Though inconceivably endowed, too dim

For any passion of the soul that leads

To extacy; and, all the crooked paths

Of time and change disdaining, takes its course

Along the line of limitless desires.

I, speaking now from such disorder free,

Nor sleep, nor craving, but in settled peace,

I cannot doubt that They whom you deplore

Are glorified; or, if they sleep, shall wake

From sleep, and dwell with God in endless love.

Hope,—below this, consists not with belief

In mercy carried infinite degrees

Beyond the tenderness of human hearts: