William Wordsworth

Of vast circumference and gloom profound,
This solitary Tree! A living thing
Produced too slowly ever to read more

Of vast circumference and gloom profound,
This solitary Tree! A living thing
Produced too slowly ever to decay;
Of form and aspect too magnificent
To be destroyed.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,
Far read more

List--'twas the cuckoo--O, with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint,
Far off and faint, and melting into air,
Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!
Those louder cries give notice that the bird,
Although invisible as Echo's self,
Is wheeling hitherward.