Two Long Vacations: Grasmere

Seven we were, and two are gone:
Two! What are those remaining?
Ghosts of the Past, with cloud o'ercast.
Cloud that is always raining!
S'
Ah me! Last year, when I came back,
Like faithful hound returning
For old sake's sake to each loved track,
With heart and memory burning;
There was the knoll, there was the road,
There was our humble dwelling;
There o'er the Raise of Dunmail showed
The shoulder of Helvellyn;
And there the great heights black with cloud,
Whence flow'd the white stream under;
And glens with echoing torrent loud,
And cataracts' distant thunder;
And seven men's eyes looked dimly out
Beneath our old house rafter;
And seven men's forms crept round about
With peals of ghostly laughter;
And sad yews dripp'd on the mossy stone;
And fuchsia and rose grew rank;
And the woodbine wept as the rain pour'd on;
And ferns spread over the bank;
And trees o'ergrown shut out the light
Of Easedale's cascade falling;
And hearing, after-born of sight,
No longer heard it calling.
And no one cared: save only there
Where flowers make silence sweet,
By pilgrims worn, that rocky stair!
Look up! It is Wordsworth's seat.
Where glass'd in those far-reaching eyes
He read all nature plain;
And saw more things in earth and skies
Than will ever be seen again.
There found he wealth, to others dearth,
And peace, from a world's wild din;
And, would we know the soul of earth,
He bade us look within.
All else is changed. Yet rain may pour,
Weeds spread, and all grow rotten;
But something lives from days of yore,
Still fresh, still unforgotten:
The lamp of truth we lit in youth,
The dreams of life's young morning:
In that dark hour I found their power
Still in the embers burning.
O vows, I cried, so oft denied,
And you resolves forsaken,
Befriend me still! A new-born will
Trusts in you newly taken.
But, how to live, O, tell me, friend,
In age still wisdom gaining?
The clouds descend; ah, bid them blend
With fires of youth remaining!