IX
(lines 129-67)
O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest--
Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:--
Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Intimations Ode
Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.