Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds, Of fluttering Sylphs, and softly-gliding Fays, Genii, and winged Angels that are Lords Without restraint of all which they behold. 35 The illusion strengthening as he gazed, he felt That such unfettered liberty was his, Such power and joy; but only for this end, To flit from field to rock, from rock to field, From shore to island, and from isle to shore, 40 From open ground to covert, from a bed Of meadow-flowers into a tuft of wood, From high to low, from low to high, yet still Within the bound of this high concave; here Must be his home, this Valley be his world. 45 Since that day forth the place to him--_to me_ (For I who live to register the truth Was that same young and happy being) became As beautiful to thought, as it had been, When present, to the bodily sense; a haunt 50 Of pure affections, shedding upon joy A brighter joy; and through such damp and gloom Of the gay mind, as ofttimes splenetic youth Mistakes for sorrow darting beams of light That no self-cherished sadness could withstand: 55 And now ’tis mine, perchance for life, dear Vale, Beloved Grasmere (let the Wandering Streams Take up, the cloud-capped hills repeat, the Name), One of thy lowly dwellings is my Home. And was the cost so great? and could it seem 60 An act of courage, and the thing itself A conquest? who must bear the blame? sage man Thy prudence, thy experience--thy desires; Thy apprehensions--blush thou for them all. Yes, the realities of life so cold, 65 So cowardly, so ready to betray, So stinted in the measure of their grace As we pronounce them, doing them much wrong, Have been to me more bountiful than hope, Less timid than desire--but that is passed. 70 On Nature’s invitation do I come,[359] By reason sanctioned--Can the choice mislead, That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth, With all its unappropriated good, My own; and not mine only, for with me 75 Entrenched, say rather peacefully embowered, Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot, A younger orphan of a home extinct, The only daughter of my parents, dwells. Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir, 80 Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame No longer breathe, but all be satisfied. --Oh if such silence be not thanks to God For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne’er 85 Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts, But either She whom now I have, who now