Addressed to Charles Lamb, of the India House, London

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lostBeauties and feelings, such as would have beenMost sweet to my remembrance even when ageHad dimmed mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,Friends, whom I never more may meet again,On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,To that still roaring dell, of which I told;The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep,And only speckled by the mid-day sun;Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rockFlings arching like a bridge--that branchless ash,Unsunned and damp, whose few poor yellow-leavesNe'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,Fanned by the water-fall! and there my friendsBehold the dark green file of long lank weeds,That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edgeOf the blue clay-stone.

Now, my friends emergeBeneath the wide wide Heaven--and view againThe many-steepled tract magnificentOf hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light upThe slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two IslesOf purple shadow! Yes! they wander onIn gladness all; but thou, me thinks, most glad,My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pinedAnd hungered after Nature, many a year,In the great City pent, winning thy wayWith sad yet patient soul, through evil and painAnd strange calamity! Ah! slowly sinkBehind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb,Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye cloudsLive in the yellow light, ye distant groves!And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friendStruck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing roundOn the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seemLess gross than bodily; and of such huesAs veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makesSpirits perceive his presence.

A delightComes sudden on my heart, and I am gladAs I myself were there! Nor in this bower,This little lime-tree bower, have I not markedMuch that has soothed me. Pale beneath the blazeHung the transparent foliage; and I watchedSome broad and sunny leaf, and loved to seeThe shadow of the leaf and stem above,Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-treeWas richly tinged, and a deep radiance layFull on the ancient ivy, which usurpsThose fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass--Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hueThrough the late twilight: and though now the batWheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters,Yet still the solitary humble-beeSings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall knowThat Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure;No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,No waste so vacant, but. may well employEach faculty of sense, and keep the heart.Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes'Tis well to be bereft of promised good,That we may lift the soul, and contemplateWith lively joy the joys we cannot share.My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rookBeat its straight path along the dusky airHomewards, I blest it! deeming, its black wing(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)Had cross'd the mighty orb's dilated glory,While thou stood'st gazing; or when all was still,Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charmFor thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whomNo sound is dissonant which tells of Life.