Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/212

190 Tricked out for that proud use, if I perchance

Caught, on a summer evening through a chink

In the old wall, an unexpected glimpse

Of daylight, the bare thought of where I was

Gladdened me more than if I had been led

Into a dazzling cavern of romance,

Crowded with Genii busy among works

Not to be looked at by the common sun.

The matter that detains us now may seem,

To many, neither dignified enough

Nor arduous, yet will not be scorned by them,

Who, looking inward, have observed the ties

That bind the perishable hours of life

Each to the other, and the curious props

By which the world of memory and thought

Exists and is sustained. More lofty themes,

Such as at least do wear a prouder face,

Solicit our regard; but when I think

Of these, I feel the imaginative power

Languish within me; even then it slept,

When, pressed by tragic sufferings, the heart

Was more than full; amid my sobs and tears

It slept, even in the pregnant season of youth.

For though I was most passionately moved