On a Passage in the Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth
Down the green-clad hillside slope
the water flows in streams,
mining through the young wheat fields
with silver-streaking seams
beside the sheep that graze the hill
like clouds in dozing dreams.
The sunshine through the rain-glossed day
sparks life to sudden crowds:
the flowers leaping like the spring,
hepatica, violet, proud,
the snow-drops raising snowy heads
in sunsong sweet and loud.
The woods of brown exhibit light
through netting made of bough
and planted oaks, like columns old,
are crowning hillside-brow.
And so it is, and so you are,
in pure and standing now.
Light in Mist
Mind is a landscape covered with mist;
shapes there go walking, hinting of more;
everything dances with curl and twist
like breeze-playing spray from wave and shore.
The moonlight at times silvers the air,
dim sunlight through clouds may color all,
but neither is light like that you share
when something of you does on me fall.
That of which we think may become clear;
thinking itself is vaporous sea.
And light is a music subtle and clear,
rainbowing reason: thus you to me.
the wholeness of good possessed as a whole
the completion of the power inherent in you
at splendid things true joy of the soul
when you triumph at being your self pure and true
to reason well in choosing the natural thing
to contemplate order of all things in all
to be like a circle and unending ring
in all choice and thought to hear virtue's call
achievement of life that is smooth in its flow
that which makes nature finished in kind
the good to will and the true to know
being the divine that in us we find