Poem by William Wordsworth

* * *

"BELOVED Vale!" I said, "when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no tears;
Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none.
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost
I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall;
So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small!
A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed;
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

1. To the Sons of Burns
2. The Kirk of Ulpha
3. To a Highland Girl
4. For the Spot Where the Hermitage Stood on St. Herbert’s Island, Derwent Water
5. The Glen of Loch Etive

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