Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/361

335 Grey locks profusely round his temples hung

In clustering curls, like ivy, which the bite

Of Winter cannot thin; the fresh air lodged

Within his cheek, as light within a cloud;

And he returned our greeting with a smile.

When he had passed, the Solitary spake,

—"A Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays

And confident to-morrows,—with a face

Not worldly-minded; for it bears too much

Of Nature's impress,—gaiety and health,

Freedom and hope; but keen, withal, and shrewd.

His gestures note,—and hark! his tones of voice

Are all vivacious as his mien and looks."

The Pastor answered. "You have read him well.

Year after year is added to his store

With silent increase: summers, winters—past,

Past or to come; yea, boldly might I say,

Ten summers and ten winters of the space

That lies beyond life's ordinary bounds,

Upon his sprightly vigor, cannot fix

The obligation of an anxious mind,

A pride in having, or a fear to lose;