INNOCENCE. 163 
A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
Ere thus I have lain couch’d an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 
Some apprehension. 
Some steady love; some brief delight ; 
Some memory that had taken flight ; 
Some charm of fancy, wrong or right ; 
Or stray invention. 
If stately passions in me burn, 
And one chance look to thee should turn, 
I drink out of an humble urn, 
A lowlier pleasure ; 
The homely sympathy that heeds 
The common life our nature breeds ; 
A wisdom fitted to the needs 
Of hearts at leisure, 
When, smitten by the morning ray, 
I see thee rise, alert and gay, 
Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play 
With kindred gladness ; 
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
Thou sink’st, the image of thy rest 
Hath often eased my pensive breast 
Of careful sadness. 
And all day long I number yet, 
All seasons through, another debt, 
Which I, wherever thou art met, 
To thee am owing; 
mM 2 

