In love alone.
ON READING THE MS. OF DOROTHY
WORDSWORTH’S JOURNALS
To-day I read the poet’s sister’s book,
She who so comforted those Grasmere days
When song was at the flood, and thence I took
A larger note of fortitude and praise.
And in her ancient fastness beauty stirred,
And happy faith was in my heart again,
Because the virtue of a simple word
Was durable above the lives of men.