Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly his later meal:
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
O’er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home—felt, and home—created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.
Other works by William Wordsworth...
Influence of Natural Objects in Calling Forth and Strengthening the Imagination in Boyhood and Early Youth
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity
And giv’st to forms and images a b
And everlasting motion! not in vai
By day or star—light, thus from my