Image: Unsplash, downloaded https://unsplash.com/photos/nVH2X2oYlpU (24.5.2021.)
A Night-Piece
The night sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which trough that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that no shadow falls,
Chequering the ground, from rock, plant, tree, or tower
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up - the clouds are split
Asunder, - and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives. How fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not! - the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent; - still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.
Patience
If this great world of joy and pain
Revolve in one sure track;
If freedom, set, will rise again,
And virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind crew who fill
The heart with each day's care;
Nor gain, from past or future, skill
To bear, and to forbear!
The World and Our Spirits
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;
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
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.
Source: Selected poems/William Wordsworth (Wordsworth, W. (1996.) Selected poems/William Wordsworth, London: Penguin Books)
More about William Wordsworth: https://www.zvonainari.hr/single-post/2019/04/05/weekly-zingers-poet-of-nature
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