DERWENTWATER, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OF THE

ENGLISH LAKES

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong.

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, -
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong:
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every beast keep holiday;

Thou child of joy

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make, I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fullness of your bliss, I feel - I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning
This sweet May morning;

And the children are pulling

On every side

In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

-But there's a tree, of many, one,