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Peaceful our valley, fair & green
And beautiful her cottages
Each in its nook, its sheltered hold,
Or underneath its tuft of trees –5
Many & beautiful they are;
But there is one that I love best,
A lowly shed, in truth, it is,
That A brother of the rest –
Yet when I sit on rock or hill10
Down looking on the valley fair,
That cottage, with its clustering trees
Summons my heart, it settles there –
Others there are whose small domain
Of fertile fields & hedgerows green15
Might more seduce a wanderers mind
To wish that there his home had been –
Such wish be his! I blame him not,
My fancies, they perchance are wild
I love that house because it is20
The very mountains’ child –
Fields hath it of its own, green fields,
But they are rocky, steep & bare;
Their fence is of the mountain stone.
And moss and lichen flourish there–25
And when the storm comes from the North
It lingers near that pastoral spot,
And piping through the mossy walls,
It seems delighted with its lot –
And let it take its own delight,30
And let it range the pastures bare
Until it reach that group of trees!
– It may not enter there.
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A green unfading grove it is,35
Skirted with many a lesser tree
Hazel and holly, beech and oak,
A bright & flourishing company –
Precious the shelter of those trees;
They screen the cottage that I love;40
The sunshine pierces to the roof
And the tall pine-trees tower above!
When first I saw that dear abode
It was a lovely winter’s day
– After a night of perilous storm45
The west wind ruled with gentle sway;
– A day so mild, it might have been
The first day of the gladsome spring;
The robins warbled; and I heard
A solitary throstle sing –50
A stranger, Grasmere, in thy vale,
All faces then to me unknown,
I left my sole companion-friend
To wander out alone –
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Lured by a little winding path,55
I quitted soon the public road,
A smooth and tempting path it was,
By sheep and shepherds trod –
Eastwards towards the lofty hills
That pathway led me on60
Until I reached a stately rock
With velvet moss o’ergrown –
With russet oak, & tufts of fern
Its top was richly garlanded;
Its sides adorned with eglantine65
Bedropped with hips of glossy red
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There too in many a sheltered chink,
The foxgloves broad leaves flourished fair,
And silver birch whose purple Twigs
Bend to the softest breathing air –
BBeneath that Rock my course I stayed,5
And, looking to its summit high,
“Thou wear’st,” said I, “a splendid garb,
Here winter keeps his revelry –
Full long a dweller on the Plains,
I grieved when summer days were gone,10
No more I’ll grieve, for Winter here
Hath pleasure gardens of his own.
What need of flowers? the splendid moss
Is gayer than an April mead
More rich its hues of various green,15
Orange, & gold, and glittering red–”
— Beside that gay & lovely Rock
There came with merry voice
A foaming streamlet glancingly:
It seemed to say “Rejoice!”20
My youthful wishes all fulfill’d
Wishes matured by thoughtful choice,
I stood an Inmate of this Vale,
How could I but rejoice?
