Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/50

28 —And if the vulgar joy by its own weight

Wearied itself out of the memory,

The scenes which were a witness of that joy

Remained in their substantial lineaments

Depicted on the brain, and to the eye

Were visible, a daily sight; and thus

By the impressive discipline of fear,

By pleasure and repeated happiness,

So frequently repeated, and by force

Of obscure feelings representative

Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright,

So beautiful, so majestic in themselves,

Though yet the day was distant, did become

Habitually dear, and all their forms

And changeful colours by invisible links

Were fastened to the affections.

I began

My story early—not misled, I trust,

By an infirmity of love for days

Disowned by memory—ere the breath of spring

Planting my snowdrops among winter snows:

Nor will it seem to thee, O Friend! so prompt

In sympathy, that I have lengthened out

With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale.