Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, Mine have not pilfered yet; nor yet impaired My relish of fair prospect; scenes that soothed Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find Still soothing and of power to charm me still. And witness, dear companion of my walks, Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love, Confirmed by long experience of thy worth And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire— Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. Thou know’st my praise of Nature most sincere, And that my raptures are not conjured up To serve occasions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of them all. How oft upon yon eminence, our pace Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind scarce conscious that it blew, While admiration feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene! Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned The distant plough slow-moving, and beside His labouring team, that swerved not from the track, The sturdy swain diminished to a boy! Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o’er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted. There, fast rooted in his bank Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms That screen the herdsman’s solitary hut; While far beyond and overthwart the stream That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedgerow beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote. Scenes must be beautiful which daily viewed Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years: Praise justly due to those that I describe.