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And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; Thou child of joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shepherdboy!

IV.

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all.

Oh evil day! if I were sullen While the earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning, And the children are culling On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
But there's a tree, of many

one,

A single field which I have looked upon,

Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

V.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The soul that rises with us, our life's star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we

come

From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

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Behold the child among his newborn blisses,

A six years' darling of a pygmy size!

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,

With light upon him from his father's eyes!

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,

Some fragment from his dream of human life,

Shaped by himself with newlylearned art;

A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song:

Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

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Perpetual benedictions: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest;

Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,

With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:

Not for these I raise

The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal nature

Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:

But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being

Of the eternal silence: truths that wake,

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We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today

Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind,

In the primal sympathy

Which having been, must ever be:

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

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If I should find a measure

Of gold, or if the titles of fair lands And houses would be laid within my hands.

I journeyed many roads; I knocked at gates;

I spoke to each wayfarer

I met, and said, “A heritage awaits Me. Art not thou the bearer

Of news? some message sent to me whereby

I learn which way my new possessions lie?"

Some asked me in; nought lay beyond their door;

Some smiled, and would not tarry, But said that men were just behind who bore

More gold than I could carry; And so the morn, the noon, the day, were spent,

While empty handed up and down I

went.

At last one cried, whose face I could

not see,

As through the mists he hasted; "Poor child, what evil ones have hindered thee,

Till this whole day is wasted? Hath no man told thee that thou art joint heir

With one named Christ, who waits the goods to share ?"

The one named Christ I sought for many days,

In many places vainly;

I heard men name his name in many

ways;

I saw his temples plainly; But they who named him most gave me no sign

To find him by, or prove the heirship mine.

And when at last I stood before his face,

I knew him by no token Save subtle air of joy which filled the place;

Our greeting was not spoken; In solemn silence I received my share,

Kneeling before my brother and “joint heir.”

My share! No deed of house or spreading lands,

As I had dreamed; no measure Heaped up with gold; my elder brother's hands

Had never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed:

My brother had not where to lay his head.

My share! The right like him to know all pain

Which hearts are made for knowing; The right to find in loss the surest gain;

To reap my joy from sowing In bitter tears; the right with him to keep

A watch by day and night with all who weep.

My share! To-day men call it grief and death;

I see the joy and life to-morrow; I thank my Father with my every breath,

For this sweet legacy of sorrow; And through my tears I call to each "joint heir

With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share.”

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