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ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



THE LOVE OF NATURE. 



The sounding cataract 

 Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock, 

 The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 

 Their colors and their forms,' were then to me 

 An appetite, a feeling and a love 

 That had no need of a remoter charm 

 By thought supplied, or any interest 

 Un borrowed from the eye. 



That time is past. 



And all its aching joys are now no more, 

 And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 

 Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur ; other gifts 

 Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, 

 Abundant recompense. For I have learned 

 To look on nature, not as in the hour 

 Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes 

 The still sad music of humanit) r , 

 Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 

 To chasten and subdue. 



And I have felt 



A presence that disturbs me with the joy 

 Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 

 Of something far more deeply interfused, 

 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 

 And the round ocean, and the living air, 

 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man ; 

 A motion and a spirit that impels 

 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 

 And rolls through all things. 



Therefore am I still 

 A lover of the meadows and the woods 

 And mountains, and of all that we behold 

 From this green earth ; of all the mighty world 

 Of eye and ear, both what they half create ' 

 And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize 

 In nature, and the language of the sense, 

 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 

 The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 

 Of all my moral being. 



WORDSWORTH. 



I love not man the less but nature more. 



BYRON'S Apostrvf>h<-. 



