And bringing with me no peculiar sense 575
  Of quietness or peace; yet have I stood,
  Even while mine eye hath moved o’er many a league
  Of shining water, gathering as it seemed
  Through every hair-breadth in that field of light
  New pleasure like a bee among the flowers. 580

    Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy
  Which, through all seasons, on a child’s pursuits
  Are prompt attendants, ’mid that giddy bliss
  Which, like a tempest, works along the blood
  And is forgotten; even then I felt 585
  Gleams like the flashing of a shield;—­the earth
  And common face of Nature spake to me
  Rememberable things; sometimes, ’tis true,
  By chance collisions and quaint accidents
  (Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed 590
  Of evil-minded fairies), yet not vain
  Nor profitless, if haply they impressed
  Collateral objects and appearances,
  Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep
  Until maturer seasons called them forth 595
  To impregnate and to elevate the mind. 
—­And if the vulgar joy by its own weight
  Wearied itself out of the memory,
  The scenes which were a witness of that joy
  Remained in their substantial lineaments 600
  Depicted on the brain, and to the eye
  Were visible, a daily sight; and thus
  By the impressive discipline of fear,
  By pleasure and repeated happiness,
  So frequently repeated, and by force 605
  Of obscure feelings representative
  Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright,
  So beautiful, so majestic in themselves,
  Though yet the day was distant, did become
  Habitually dear, and all their forms 610
  And changeful colours by invisible links
  Were fastened to the affections.

                                   I began
  My story early—­not misled, I trust,
  By an infirmity of love for days
  Disowned by memory—­ere the breath of spring 615
  Planting my snowdrops among winter snows:  [p]
  Nor will it seem to thee, O Friend! so prompt
  In sympathy, that I have lengthened out
  With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale. 
  Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might fetch 620
  Invigorating thoughts from former years;
  Might fix the wavering balance of my mind,
  And haply meet reproaches too, whose power
  May spur me on, in manhood now mature
  To honourable toil.  Yet should these hopes 625
  Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught
  To understand myself, nor thou to know
  With better knowledge how the heart was framed
  Of him thou lovest; need I dread from