A mournful labour, while to her is given

Hope, and a renovation without end.

-That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face
Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn,

To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen;
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers

Thy loneliness or shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage intricate and dim?
Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs,
Which, when the appointed season hath arrived,
Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt;
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own.

The text of this poem was never altered.-ED.

THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES *

Composed 1804.-Published 1807

[Seen at Town-end, Grasmere. The elder-bush has long since disappeared; it hung over the wall near the cottage: and the kitten continued to leap up, catching the leaves as here described. The Infant was Dora.-I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy." In Henry Crabb Robinson's Diary, etc., under date Sept. 10, 1816, we find, "He" (Wordsworth) "quoted from The Kitten and the Falling Leaves to show he had connected even the kitten with the great, awful, and mysterious powers of Nature."-Ed.

THAT way look, my Infant,1 lo!

What a pretty baby-show!

See the Kitten on the wall,

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

1

Darling,

MS.

* In the editions of 1807-1832 the title was The Kitten and the Falling Leaves.-ED.

1

Withered leaves-one-two-and three-
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty 1 air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,—
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,

In his wavering parachute,

-But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! 2
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire

In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way

Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then

Has it in her power again :

Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,

Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,

Over wealthy in the treasure

Of her own exceeding pleasure!

'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;1
Here, for neither Babe nor 2 me,
Other play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,

All have laid their mirth aside.

Where is he that giddy 3 Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;

Made such wanton spoil and rout,

Turning blossoms inside out;

Hung-head pointing towards the ground

MS.

1807.

MS.

1807.

Fluttered, perched, into a round

70

Bound himself, and then unbound;

Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin !

Prettiest tumbler ever seen!

Light of heart and light of limb;

What is now become of Him?

Lambs, that through the mountains went

Frisking, bleating merriment,

When the year was in its prime,

They are sobered by this time.

If you look to vale or1 hill,
If you listen, all is still,

Save a little neighbouring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter 2 hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain ;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy :
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell

Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,—
Spreads with such a living grace

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100

75

O'er my little Dora's 1 face;

Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could repine

That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! 2
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,3
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,

1 1849.

Now and then I may possess

2 Additional lines

3

But I'll take a hint from you,
And to pleasure will be true,

Be it songs of endless Spring
Which the frolic Muses sing,
Jest, and Mirth's unruly brood
Dancing to the Phrygian mood;
Be it love, or be it wine,
Myrtle wreath, or ivy twine,
Or a garland made of both;
Whether then Philosophy
That would fill us full of glee
Seeing that our breath we draw
Under an unbending law,

That our years are halting never;
Quickly gone, and gone for ever,
And would teach us thence to brave
The conclusion in the grave;
Whether it be these that give
Strength and spirit so to live,
Or the conquest best be made,
By a sober course and staid,

I would walk in such a way,

MS.

MS.

115

* Dora Wordsworth died in July 1847. Probably the change of text in 1849-one of the latest which the poet made-was due to the wish to connect this poem! with memories of his dead daughter's childhood, and her "laughing eye."-ED.