William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

WINGS have we,—and as far as we can go

We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,

Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood

Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,

Are a substantial world, both pure and good:

Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,

Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

There find I personal themes, a plenteous store,

Matter wherein right voluble I am,

To which I listen with a ready ear;

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,—

The gently Lady married to the Moor;

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.