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The Major Works – William Wordsworth
From I am not One who much or oft delight

I am not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk,
About friends, who live within an easy walk
Or neighbours, daily, weekly in my sight
…….
Better than such discourse doth silence long
Long, barren silence, square with my desire
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim
By my half kitchen my half parlour fire
And listen to the flapping of the flame
Or kettle, whispering it’s faint undersong
..
Children are blessed, and powerful; their world lies
More justly balanced; partly at their feet
And part far from them – sweetest melodies
Are those that are by distance made more sweet;
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes
He is a slave; the meanest we can  meet.
……
Nor can I not believe but that hereby
Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote
From evil speaking; rancour, never sought
Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought
And thus from day to day my little boat
Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably