Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

To me alone there came a thought of Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

Milton! thou should'st be living at this
hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and
bower,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,

ΙΟ

Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Have forfeited their ancient English Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the

dower

5

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER
BRIDGE, SEPT. 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, 5
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and tem-
ples lie

year; And worship'st at the temple's inner shrine,

God being with thee when we know it not.

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!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the
moon;
5

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be

Open unto the fields, and to the sky; A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

ΤΟ