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One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply:
"The eye—it cannot choose but see;
"We cannot bid the ear be still;
"Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
"Against, or with our will.
"Nor less I deem that there are Powers
"Which of themselves our minds impress;
"That we can feed this mind of ours
"In a wise passiveness,
"Think you, mid all this mighty sum
"Of things for ever speaking,
"That nothing of itself will come,
"But we must still be seeking?
"—Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
"Conversing as I may,
"I sit upon this old gray stone,
"And dream my time away."
