Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/52

40 Where numbers overwhelm humanity,

And neighbourhood serves rather to divide

Than to unite—what sighs more deep than his,

Whose nobler will hath long been sacrificed;

Who must inhabit under a black sky

A city, where, if indifference to disgust

Yield not to scorn or sorrow, living men

Are ofttimes to their fellow-men no more

Than to the forest Hermit are the leaves

That hang aloft in myriads; nay, far less,

For they protect his walk from sun and shower,

Swell his devotion with their voice in storms,

And whisper while the stars twinkle among them

His lullaby. From crowded streets remote,

Far from the living and dead Wilderness

Of the thronged world, Society is here