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6

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802

EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples
lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
1807.

1802.

7

"IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE”

Ir is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,

If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine God being with thee when we know it not. 1802. 1807.

8

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

ONCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee;
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest child of liberty,
She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.

And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

When her long life hath reach'd its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade

Of that which once was great has pass'd away.

1802. 1807.

9

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH

WITH US"

THE world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less
forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

1806. 1807.

ΙΟ

TO SLEEP

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and

seas,

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;

I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard

trees;

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more,

I lay,

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:

So do not let me wear to-night away:

Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?

Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

1806. 1807.

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