The Poems of William Wordsworth - Humanities-Ebooks

18 The Poems of William Wordsworth
Of vice and virtue, with no skill to part
Vague longing that is bred by want of power
From paramount impulse not to be withstood,
A timorous capacity from prudence;
From circumspection infinite delay. 245
Humility and modest awe themselves
Betray me, serving often for a cloak
To a more subtle selfishness, that now
Doth lock my functions up in blank reserve,
Now dupes me by an over anxious eye 250
That with a false activity beats off
Simplicity and self-presented truth.
—Ah! better far than this, to stray about
Voluptuously through fields and rural walks,
And ask no record of the hours, given up 255
To vacant musing, unreprov’d neglect
Of all things, and deliberate holiday:
Far better never to have heard the name
Of zeal and just ambition, than to live
Thus baffled by a mind that every hour 260
Turns recreant to her task, takes heart again
Then feels immediately some hollow thought
Hang like an interdict upon her hopes.
This is my lot; for either still I find
Some imperfection in the chosen theme; 265
Or see of absolute accomplishment
Much wanting, so much wanting in myself,
That I recoil and droop, and seek repose
In indolence from vain perplexity,
Unprofitably travelling towards the grave, 270
Like a false Steward who hath much receiv’d
And renders nothing back.—Was it for this
That one, the fairest of all Rivers, lov’d
To blend his murmurs with my Nurse’s song
And from his alder shades and rocky falls, 275
And from his fords and shallows sent a voice