William Wordsworth - Nutting (1805 Lyrical Ballads) lyrics

NUTTING. ——————————— It seems a day, (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days which cannot die, When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door*, And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung, A nutting crook in hand, I turned my steps Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint, Tricked out in proud disguise of Beggar's weeds Put on for the occasion, by advice And exhortation of my frugal Dame. Motley accoutrement! of power to smile *The house at which I was boarded during the time I was at School. At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth, More ragged than need was. Among the woods, And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way Until, at length, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation, but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin scene!—A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and with wise restraint Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; A temper known to those, who, after long And weary expectation, have been blessed With sudden happiness beyond all hope.— Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green stones That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash And merciless ravage; and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and, unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, Even then, when from the bower I turned away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees and the intruding sky.— Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch,——for there is a Spirit in the woods.