Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/84

62 Amid my strongest workings evermore

Was searching out the lines of difference

As they lie hid in all external forms,

Near or remote, minute or vast, an eye

Which from a tree, a stone, a withered leaf,

To the broad ocean and the azure heavens

Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars,

Could find no surface where its power might sleep;

Which spake perpetual logic to my soul,

And by an unrelenting agency

Did bind my feelings even as in a chain.

And here, Friend! have I retraced my life

Up to an eminence, and told a tale

Of matters which not falsely may be called

The glory of my youth. Of genius, power,

Creation and divinity itself

I have been speaking, for my theme has been

What passed within me. Not of outward things

Done visibly for other minds, words, signs,

Symbols or actions, but of my own heart

Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind.

O Heavens! how awful is the might of souls,

And what they do within themselves while yet

The yoke of earth is new to them, the world