| |
| SEVEN we were, and two are gone: | |
| Two! What are those remaining? | |
| Ghosts of the Past, with cloud o’ercast, | |
| Cloud that is always raining! | |
| |
| Ah me! Last year, when I came back, | 5 |
| Like faithful hound returning | |
| For old sake’s sake to each loved track, | |
| With heart and memory burning; | |
| |
| There was the knoll, there was the road, | |
| There was our humble dwelling; | 10 |
| There o’er the Raise of Dunmail showed | |
| The shoulder of Helvellyn; | |
| |
| And there the great heights black with cloud, | |
| Whence flow’d the white stream under; | |
| And glens with echoing torrent loud, | 15 |
| And cataracts’ distant thunder; | |
| |
| And seven men’s eyes looked dimly out | |
| Beneath our old house rafter; | |
| And seven men’s forms crept round about | |
| With peals of ghostly laughter; | 20 |
| |
| And sad yews dripp’d on the mossy stone; | |
| And fuchsia and rose grew rank; | |
| And the woodbine wept as the rain pour’d on; | |
| And ferns spread over the bank; | |
| |
| And trees o’ergrown shut out the light | 25 |
| Of Easedale’s cascade falling; | |
| And hearing, after-born of sight, | |
| No longer heard it calling. | |
| |
| And no one cared: save only there | |
| Where flowers make silence sweet, | 30 |
| By pilgrims worn, that rocky stair! | |
| Look up! It is Wordsworth’s seat. | |
| |
| Where glass’d in those far-reaching eyes | |
| He read all nature plain; | |
| And saw more things in earth and skies | 35 |
| Than will ever be seen again. | |
| |
| There found he wealth, to others dearth, | |
| And peace, from a world’s wild din; | |
| And, would we know the soul of earth, | |
| He bade us look within. | 40 |
| |
| All else is changed. Yet rain may pour, | |
| Weeds spread, and all grow rotten; | |
| But something lives from days of yore, | |
| Still fresh, still unforgotten: | |
| |
| The lamp of truth we lit in youth, | 45 |
| The dreams of life’s young morning: | |
| In that dark hour I found their power | |
| Still in the embers burning. | |
| |
| O vows, I cried, so oft denied, | |
| And you resolves forsaken, | 50 |
| Befriend me still! A new-born will | |
| Trusts in you newly taken. | |
| |
| But, how to live, O, tell me, friend, | |
| In age still wisdom gaining? | |
| The clouds descend; ah, bid them blend | 55 |
| With fires of youth remaining! | |
| |
