Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/20

8 The boon is absolute; surpassing grace

To me hath been vouchsafed; among the bowers

Of blissful Eden this was neither given

Nor could be given, possession of the good

Which had been sighed for, ancient thought fulfilled,

And dear Imaginations realised,

Up to their highest measure, yea and more.

Embrace me then, ye Hills, and close me in;

Now in the clear and open day I feel

Your guardianship; I take it to my heart;

'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night.

But I would call thee beautiful, for mild,

And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art

Dear Valley, having in thy face a smile

Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased,

Pleased with thy crags and woody steeps, thy Lake,