Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works
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SONG

FOR THE WANDERING JEW

          THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
          Roar down many a craggy steep,
          Yet they find among the mountains
          Resting-places calm and deep.

          Clouds that love through air to hasten,
          Ere the storm its fury stills,
          Helmet-like themselves will fasten
          On the heads of towering hills.

          What, if through the frozen centre
          Of the Alps the Chamois bound,                              10
          Yet he has a home to enter
          In some nook of chosen ground:

          And the Sea-horse, though the ocean
          Yield him no domestic cave,
          Slumbers without sense of motion,
          Couched upon the rocking wave.

          If on windy days the Raven
          Gambol like a dancing skiff,
          Not the less she loves her haven
          In the bosom of the cliff.                                  20

          The fleet Ostrich, till day closes,
          Vagrant over desert sands,
          Brooding on her eggs reposes
          When chill night that care demands.

          Day and night my toils redouble,
          Never nearer to the goal;
          Night and day, I feel the trouble
          Of the Wanderer in my soul.
                                                              1800.


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