Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/130

108 As might appear to the eye of fleeting time,

A deathless spirit. Thou also, man! hast wrought,

For commerce of thy nature with herself,

Things that aspire to unconquerable life;

And yet we feel—we cannot choose but feel—

That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart

It gives, to think that our immortal being

No more shall need such garments; and yet man,

As long as he shall be the child of earth,

Might almost "weep to have" what he may lose,

Nor be himself extinguished, but survive,

Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate.

A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,—

Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes

Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch

Her pleasant habitations, and dry up

Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare,

Yet would the living Presence still subsist

Victorious, and composure would ensue,

And kindlings like the morning—presage sure

Of day returning and of life revived.

But all the meditations of mankind,

Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth

By reason built, or passion, which itself

Is highest reason in a soul sublime;