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Shut close the door; press down the latch;
But who is He, with modest looks,
He is retired as noontide dew,
The outward shows of sky and earth,
In common things that round us lie
—Come hither in thy hour of strength;
EXPOSTULATION JND REPLY.
"Why, William, on that old gray stone,
"Where are your books?—that light bequeathed"To beings else forlorn and blind!"Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed From dead men to their kind.
"You look round on your mother earth,
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
"The eye—it cannot choose but see;
"Nor less I deem that there are Powers
"Think you, mid all this mighty sum
"—Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
"Conversing as I may,
"I sit upon this old gray stone,
"And dream my time away."
THE TABLES TURNED;
AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: