Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/160

138 Though not familiarly, my mind put on,

Content to observe, to achieve, and to enjoy.

All winter long, whenever free to choose,

Did I by night frequent the College groves

And tributary walks; the last, and oft

The only one, who had been lingering there

Through hours of silence, till the porter's bell,

A punctual follower on the stroke of nine,

Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice,

Inexorable summons! Lofty elms,

Inviting shades of opportune recess,

Bestowed composure on a neighbourhood

Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree

With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely wreathed,

Grew there; an ash which Winter for himself

Decked as in pride, and with outlandish grace:

Up from the ground, and almost to the top,

The trunk and every master branch were green

With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs

And outer spray profusely tipped with seeds

That hung in yellow tassels, while the air

Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I stood

Foot-bound uplooking at this lovely tree

Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere