The Poem

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That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the Kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves—one—two—and three—
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,—
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
——But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now—now one—
Now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again:
Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither Babe nor me,
Other play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.
Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung—head pointing towards the ground—
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
Prettiest tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy:
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,—
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Dora's face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair!
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess
Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
—Pleased by any random toy;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy;
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought,
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.


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[Variant 1:]

... Darling, ... MS.

... Darling, ...

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[Variant 2:]

... silent ... MS.

... silent ...

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[Variant 3:]

Knows not what she would be at,
Now on this side, now on that.
MS.

Knows not what she would be at,
Now on this side, now on that.

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[Variant 4:]

One for me, too, as is meet. MS.

One for me, too, as is meet.

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[Variant 5:]

1815
... or ... 1807

... or ...

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[Variant 6:]

... busy ... MS.

... busy ...

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[Variant 7:]

1836
Hung with head towards the ground, 1807

Hung with head towards the ground,

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[Variant 8:]

date
... and ... MS.

... and ...

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[Variant 9:]

1836
... glitters ... 1807

... glitters ...

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[Variant 10:]

1849
Laura's[a] 1807

Laura's[a]

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[Variant 11:]

Additional lines:
But I'll take a hint from you,
And to pleasure will be true,
MS.

But I'll take a hint from you,
And to pleasure will be true,

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[Variant 12:]

Be it songs of endless Spring
Which the frolic Muses sing,
Jest, and Mirth's unruly brood
Dancing to the Phrygian mood;
Be it love, or be it wine,
Myrtle wreath, or ivy twine,
Or a garland made of both;
Whether then Philosophy
That would fill us full of glee
Seeing that our breath we draw
Under an unbending law,
That our years are halting never;
Quickly gone, and gone for ever,
And would teach us thence to brave
The conclusion in the grave;
Whether it be these that give
Strength and spirit so to live,
Or the conquest best be made,
By a sober course and staid,
I would walk in such a way, 		MS.

Be it songs of endless Spring
Which the frolic Muses sing,
Jest, and Mirth's unruly brood
Dancing to the Phrygian mood;
Be it love, or be it wine,
Myrtle wreath, or ivy twine,
Or a garland made of both;
Whether then Philosophy
That would fill us full of glee
Seeing that our breath we draw
Under an unbending law,
That our years are halting never;
Quickly gone, and gone for ever,
And would teach us thence to brave
The conclusion in the grave;
Whether it be these that give
Strength and spirit so to live,
Or the conquest best be made,
By a sober course and staid,
I would walk in such a way,

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[Variant 13:]

... joyousness. MS.

... joyousness.

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[Variant 14:]

date
From the things by ... MS.

From the things by ...

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[Footnote A:] In the editions of 1807-1832 the title was The Kitten and the Falling Leaves.—Ed.
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[Sub-Footnote a:] Dora Wordsworth died in July 1847. Probably the change of text in 1849—one of the latest which the poet made—was due to the wish to connect this poem with memories of his dead daughter's childhood, and her "laughing eye."—Ed.
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[Contents 1804]
[Main Contents]

The Small Celandine[A]