William Wordsworth

Personal Talk

I I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk. -- Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight: And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. Better than such discourse doth silence long, Long, barren silence, square with my desire; To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, And listen to the flapping of the flame, Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. II "Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see, And with a living pleasure we describe; And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe The languid mind into activity. Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee Are fostered by the comment and the gibe. " Even be it so; yet still among your tribe, Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me! Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies More justly balanced; partly at their feet, And part far from them: sweetest melodies Are those that are by distance made more sweet; Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet! III Wings have we,--and as far as we can go, We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood, Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow. There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, Matter wherein right voluble I am, To which I listen with a ready ear; Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,-- The gentle Lady married to the Moor; And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb, IV Nor can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: And thus from day to day my little boat Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them--and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares-- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days.