



their light and heat entered into the ripening 

 fruits and grains. I have come back to my 

 friendly lire richer and wiser for my absence 

 from its cheer and warmth ; my life has 

 been renewed at those ancient sources 

 whence all our knowledge has come ; I have 

 felt again the solitude and sanctity of those 

 venerable shades where the voices of the ora- 

 cles were once heard, and fleeting glimpses 

 of shy divinities made a momentary splen- 

 dour in the dusky depths. 



Wordsworth's sonnets are always within 

 reach of those who never get beyond the 

 compelling voice of Nature, and who are 

 continually returning to her with a sense of 

 loss and decline after every wandering. As 

 I take up the little, well-worn book, it opens 

 of itself at a familiar page, and I read once 

 more that sonnet which comes to one at 

 times with an unspeakable pathos in its 

 lines a sense of permanent alienation and 

 loss: 



The world is too much with us; late and soon, 

 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 

 Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 



159 



