Perhaps than if it had been more desired
  Or been more often thought of with regret;
  That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind
  Roar and the rain beat hard, where I so oft
  Had lain awake on summer nights to watch
  The moon in splendor couched among the leaves
  Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood;
  Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro
  In the dark summit of the waving tree
  She rocked with every impulse of the breeze. 
    Among the favorites whom it pleased me well
  To see again, was one by ancient right
  Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills;
  By birth and call of nature pre-ordained
  To hunt the badger and unearth the fox
  Among the impervious crags, but having been
  From youth our own adopted, he had passed
  Into a gentler service.  And when first
  The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day
  Along my veins I kindled with the stir,
  The fermentation, and the vernal heat
  Of poesy, affecting private shades
  Like a sick Lover, then this dog was used
  To watch me, an attendant and a friend,
  Obsequious to my steps early and late,
  Though often of such dilatory walk
  Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made. 
  A hundred times when, roving high and low,
  I have been harassed with the toil of verse,
  Much pains and little progress, and at once
  Some lovely Image in the song rose up
  Full-formed, like Venus rising from the sea;
  Then have I darted forward to let loose
  My hand upon his back with stormy joy,
  Caressing him again and yet again. 
  And when at evening on the public way
  I sauntered, like a river murmuring
  And talking to itself when all things else
  Are still, the creature trotted on before;
  Such was his custom; but whene’er he met
  A passenger approaching, he would turn
  To give me timely notice, and straightway,
  Grateful for that admonishment, I hushed
  My voice, composed my gait, and, with the air
  And mein of one whose thoughts are free, advanced
  To give and take a greeting that might save
  My name from piteous rumors, such as wait
  On men suspected to be crazed in brain. 
    Those walks well worth to be prized and loved—­
  Regretted!—­that word, too, was on my tongue,
  But they were richly laden with all good,
  And cannot be remembered but with thanks
  And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart—­
  Those walks in all their freshness now came back
  Like a returning Spring.  When first I made
  Once more the circuit of our little lake,
  If ever happiness hath lodged with man,
  That day consummate happiness was mine,
  Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative. 
  The sun was set, or setting, when I left
  Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on
  A sober hour, not winning or serene,
  For cold and raw the air was, and untuned;