William Wordsworth

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.

And mighty poets in their misery dead.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.

One in whom persuasion and belief Had ripened into faith, and faith become A passionate intuition.

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 twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.

In years that bring the philosophic mind.