O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more--Oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more--Oh, never more! _P. B. Shelley_ CCCXXXVI _THE TROSACHS_ There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon:--Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May), The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! _W. Wordsworth_ CCCXXXVII My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. _W. Wordsworth_ CCCXXXVIII _ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD_ There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;-- Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth.