Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/385

BOOK XIV.] That later seasons owed to thee no less;

For, spite of thy sweet influence and the touch

Of kindred hands that opened out the springs

Of genial thought in childhood, and in spite

Of all that unassisted I had marked

In life or nature of those charms minute

That win their way into the heart by stealth

(Still to the very going-out of youth),

I too exclusively esteemed that love,

And sought that beauty, which, as Milton sings,

Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down

This over-sternness; but for thee, dear Friend!

My soul, too reckless of mild grace, had stood

In her original self too confident,

Retained too long a countenance severe;

A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds

Familiar, and a favourite of the stars:

But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers,

Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze,

And teach the little birds to build their nests

And warble in its chambers. At a time

When Nature, destined to remain so long

Foremost in my affections, had fallen back

Into a second place, pleased to become

A handmaid to a nobler than herself,