Before Sunrise On Helvellyn
Over the peaks of huge crags uncreate,
Across the stricken stars' usurped demesne,
Through mutinous vapours to her realms terrene—
Behold she comes, the morn inviolate.
Girdled with fire, radiant of face, elate,
Leaping the lit waves of the steep ravine—
Here first since eldest time the earth hath seen
Her vesture's trail, in heaven articulate.
Say not the world grows old: Behold ere long
Forth from the mountains come the swift and strong
Who scale the heights to greet the deathless day;
And in the abysmal plains the sick and sore
Following their feet shall see the imminent grey
Glad dawn has never breathed o'er earth or shore.
Where Lies The Land? —(Wordsworth)
‘Where lies the land of which thy soul would know? '
Beyond the wearied wold, the songless dell,
The purple grape and golden asphodel,
Beyond the zone where streams baptismal flow.
Where lies the land to which thy soul would go? '
There where the unvexed senses darkling dwell,
Where never haunting, hurrying footfall fell,
Where toil is not, nor builded hope laid low.
Rest! Rest! to thy hushed realm how one by one
Old Earth's tired ages steal away and weep,
Forgotten or unknown, long duty done.
Ah, God! when death in seeming peace shall steep
Life's loud turmoil, and Time his race hath run-
Shall heart of man at length find rest and sleep?
