She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair, Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security.)
And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed ;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires :
My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we any thing so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh
To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a 'fiery heart' :
These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine Had helped thee to a Valentine; A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent night; And steady bliss, and all the loves Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come-at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed-and cooed; And somewhat pensively he wooed : He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending ; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song-the song for me!
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