Calm is all nature

William Wordsworth

1770 to 1850

Poem Image
Track 1

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Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony
Those busy cares that would allay my pain:
The Kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass;
Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
Is up, and cropping yet his later meal:
That grief for which the senses still supply
The Horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Oh! leave me to myself; nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.
Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal
Is hush'd, am I at rest. My Friends, restrain
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Fresh food; for only then, when memory

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