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.

And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its read more

And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its time,
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, read more

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will.
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.