Page 467

William Wordsworth. (1770–1850) (continued)

4913

Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4914

That best portion of a good man’s life,—
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4915

That blessed mood,
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4916

The fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4917

The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite,—a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4918

But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4919

A sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,—
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

4920

Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

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