Page:Poems, in two volumes (IA poemsintwovolume00word).pdf/167
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The thought of our past years in me doth breedPerpetual benedictions: not indeedFor that which is most worthy to be blest;Delight and liberty, the simple creedOf Childhood, whether fluttering or at rest,With new-born hope forever in his breast:—Not for these I raiseThe song of thanks and praise;But for those obstinate questioningsOf sense and outward things,Fallings from us, vanishings;Blank misgivings of a CreatureMoving about in worlds not realiz'd,High instincts, before which our mortal NatureDid tremble like a guilty Thing surpriz'd: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;