Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/17

Rh Beloved Grasmere (let the wandering streams

Take up, the cloud-capt hills repeat, the Name)

One of thy lowly Dwellings is my Home.

And was the cost so great? and could it seem

An act of courage, and the thing itself

A conquest? who must bear the blame? Sage man,

Thy prudence, thy experience, thy desires,

Thy apprehensions—blush thou for them all.

Yes the realities of life so cold,

So cowardly, so ready to betray,

So stinted in the measure of their grace

As we pronounce them, doing them much wrong,

Have been to me more bountiful than hope,

Less timid than desire—but that is passed.

On Nature's invitation do I come,