Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/245

219 Faith may be given, we see as in a glass

A true reflection of the circling year,

With all its seasons. Grant that Spring is there,

In spite of many a rough untoward blast,

Hopeful and promising with buds and flowers;

Yet where is glowing Summer's long rich day,

That ought to follow, faithfully expressed?

And mellow Autumn, charged with bounteous fruit,

Where is she imaged? in what favoured clime

Her lavish pomp, and ripe magnificence?

—Yet, while the better part is missed, the worse

In Man's autumnal season is set forth

With a resemblance not to be denied,

And that contents him; bowers that hear no more

The voice of gladness, less and less supply

Of outward sunshine and internal warmth;

And, with this change, sharp air and falling leaves,

Foretelling total Winter, blank and cold.

How gay the Habitations that adorn

This fertile Valley! Not a House but seems

To give assurance of content within;

Embosomed happiness, and placid love;