Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/32

20 Of charity—an overflowing love;

Not for the creature only, but for all

That is around them; love for everything

Which in their happy Region they behold!

Thus do we soothe ourselves, and when the thought

Is passed, we blame it not for having come.

—What if I floated down a pleasant stream,

And now am landed, and the motion gone,

Shall I reprove myself? Ah no, the stream

Is flowing, and will never cease to flow,

And I shall float upon that stream again.

By such forgetfulness the soul becomes,

Words cannot say how beautiful: then hail,

Hail to the visible Presence, hail to thee,

Delightful Valley, habitation fair!