Poem by William Wordsworth

Written in Very Early Youth

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

1. How Sweet It Is, When Mother Fancy Rocks
2. Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower
3. Anticipation, October 1803
4. A Farewell
5. When to the Attractions of the Busy World

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