Observations placeholder

The Major Works – William Wordsworth

Beneath the concave of an April sky,
When all the fields with freshest green were dight
Appeared, in presence of that spiritual eye
That aids or supercedes our grosser sight,
The form and rich habiliments of One
Whose countenance bore resemblance to the sun,
When  it reveals, in evening majesty,
Features half lost amid their own pure light.
Poised in the middle region of the air
He hung – he floated with angelic ease
Softening that bright effulgence by degrees
Until he reached a rock, of summit bare,
Where oft the vent’rous heifer drinks the summer breeze
Upon the apex of that lofty cone;
Alighted, there the stranger stood alone;
Fair as a gorgeous fabric of the east
Suddenly raised by some enchanter’s power
Where nothing was, and firm as some old tower
Of Britain’s realm, whose leafy crest
Waves high, embellished by a gleaming shower

Beneath the shadow of his purple wings
Rested a golden harp – he touched the strings;
And, after prelude of unearthly sound
Poured through the echoing hills around,
He sang ‘No wintry desolations
Scorching blight, or noxious dew,
Affect my native habitations;
Buried in glory, far beyond the scope
Of man’s enquiring gaze, and imaged to his hope
(Alas how faintly) in the hue
Profound of night’s ethereal blue;
And in the aspect of each radiant orb –
Some fixed, some wandering with no timid curb;
But wandering orb and fixed, to mortal eye,
Blended in absolute serenity,
And free from semblance of decline; -
So wills eternal love with power divine.