Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/340

318 Bend the complying heads of lordly pines,

And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds

Through the whole compass of the sky; ye brooks,

Muttering along the stones, a busy noise

By day, a quiet sound in silent night;

Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth

In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore,

Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm;

And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is

To interpose the covert of your shades,

Even as a sleep, between the heart of man

And outward troubles, between man himself,

Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart:

Oh! that I had a music and a voice

Harmonious as your own, that I might tell

What ye have done for me. The morning shines,

Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring returns,—

I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice,

In common with the children of her love,

Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields,

Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven

On wings that navigate cerulean skies.

So neither were complacency, nor peace,

Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good

Through these distracted times; in Nature still