Calm is all nature
William Wordsworth
1770 to 1850
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Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The are couch'd upon the dewy grass;
The Horse alone, dimly as I pass,
Is up, and cropping yet later meal:
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems steal
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony
Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal
That grief for which the senses supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hush'd, am I at rest. My Friends, restrain
Those busy that would allay my pain:
Oh! leave me to myself; nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes droop again.
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