There is a pool nearby, deep and clear,
Shadowed with pines and reflections of deer
that bend to drink from the mossy bank; where buds
of red maple float and gather in the crook
of roots half-submerged by springtime floods;
and where fish, lately feeding in the brook,
come to sleep out the sun in lazy shade.
This pool at night's a mirror,
throwing back the sky's milky pasture of stars,
'til which is real, which is made, cannot be told,
'til a trout, leaping up for flies or to nibble at a star,
rips the false moon into rippling phases.
That is where I sleep until the cold, clay-colored east
is baked in the fires of dawn and brightens with glazes
of delicate light, and my blankets of mist are folded and creased.
Such near perfection, by perfection is bred,
Were you, lady, to lie on my crystalline bed.

EXCURSION
William Wordsworth

To every form of being is assigned
An active principle:-howe'er removed
From sense and observation, it subsists
In all things, in all natures: in the stars
Of azure Heaven, the unenduring clouds,
In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters and the invisible air.
Whate'er exists hath properties that spread
Beyond itself, communicating good,
A simple blessing, or with evil mixed:
Spirit that knows no insulated spot,
No chasm, no solitude; from link to link
It circulates, the soul of all the worlds."

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