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Included in 1820 among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection"; in 1827, and afterwards, it was classed with those "founded on the Affections."-ED.

THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,

Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,1
Could we but have been as contented as they.

5

When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, "Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his

hand;

But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,—we'll die 2

Before he shall go with an inch of the land!”

There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;
Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide ;

ΙΟ

We could do what we liked 3 with the land, it was ours;
And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.

But now we are strangers, go early or late;
And often, like one overburthened with sin,

With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate,4 15
I look at the fields, but 5 I cannot go in !

1 1820.

the delight of our day,

MS.

O fools that we were-we had land which we sold
O fools that we were without virtue to hold

MS.

MS.

The fields that together contentedly lay

Would have done us more good than another man's gold

2

1820.

MS.

When the bribe of the Tempter beset us, said I,
Let him come with his bags proudly grasped in his hand.
But, Thomas, be true to me, Thomas, we'll die

MS.

3 1836.

chose

1820 and MS.

4 1820.

When my hand has half-lifted the latch of the gate, MS.

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When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's

day,

Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,

A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,

"What ails you, that you must come creeping to me!"

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With our pastures about us, we could not be sad;
Our comfort was near if we ever were crost;
But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we
had,

We slighted them all,—and our birth-right was lost.1

Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son

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Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that
strain !

Think of evening's repose when our labour was done,
The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain !

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And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep,
How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood,2
Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep
That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my
blood!

Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail;
And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh,
That follows the thought

vale,

We've no land in the

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Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie!

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But the blessings, and comfort, and wealth that we had,
We slighted them all,—and our birth-right was lost.

1820 and MS.

But we traitorously gave the best friend that we had
For spiritless pelf-as we felt to our cost!

MS.

2 1820.

When my sick crazy body had lain without sleep,
How cheering the sunshiny vale where I stood,

MS.

ADDRESS TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER, DORA,*

ON BEING REMINDED THAT SHE WAS A MONTH OLD THAT DAY, SEPTEMBER 16

Composed September 16, 1804.--Published 1815

Included by Wordsworth among his "Poems of the Fancy.” -ED.

-HAST thou then survived

Mild Offspring of infirm humanity,

Meek Infant! among all forlornest things
The most forlorn-one life of that bright star,
The second glory of the Heavens ?—Thou hast ;
Already hast survived that great decay,
That transformation through the wide earth felt,
And by all nations. In that Being's sight
From whom the Race of human kind proceed,
A thousand years are but as yesterday;
And one day's narrow circuit is to Him
Not less capacious than a thousand years.

But what is time? What outward glory? neither

A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend

5

ΙΟ

Through "heaven's eternal year."†-Yet hail to Thee, 15
Frail, feeble, Monthling!--by that name, methinks,

Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Not idly.-Hadst thou been of Indian birth,
Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves,

And rudely canopied by leafy boughs,
Or to the churlish elements exposed

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On the blank plains,—the coldness of the night,
Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face
Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned,
Would, with imperious admonition, then

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* The title from 1815 to 1845 was Address to my Infant Daughter, on being reminded that she was a Month old, on that Day. After her death in 1847, her name was added to the title.-ED.

+ See Dryden's poem, To the pious memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, I. 1. 15.—ED.

Have scored thine age, and punctually timed
Thine infant history, on the minds of those

Who might have wandered with thee.-Mother's love,
Nor less than mother's love in other breasts,
Will, among us warm-clad and warmly housed,

Do for thee what the finger of the heavens
Doth all too often harshly execute
For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds
Where fancy hath small liberty to grace
The affections, to exalt them or refine;
And the maternal sympathy itself,

Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie
Of naked instinct, wound about the heart.
Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours!
Even now-to solemnise thy helpless state,
And to enliven in the mind's regard
Thy passive beauty-parallels have risen,
Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a father's thoughts,
Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky.

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And first ;-thy sinless progress, through a world
By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed,

Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds,
Moving untouched in silver purity,

And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom.

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Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain :

But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn

With brightness! leaving her to post along,
And range about, disquieted in change,
And still impatient of the shape she wears.
Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe
That will suffice thee; and it seems that now
Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine;
Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st
In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon
Hath this conception, grateful to behold,
Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er
By breathing mist; and thine appears to be

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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

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75

[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,

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

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