Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WISHING-GATE, by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Hope rules a land for ever green Last Line: Of dread eternity. | ||||||||
HOPE rules a land for ever green: All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen Are confident and gay; Clouds at her bidding disappear; Points she to aught? -- the bliss draws near, And Fancy smooths the way. Not such the land of Wishes -- there Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer, And thoughts with things at strife; Yet how forlorn, should 'ye' depart Ye superstitions of the 'heart', How poor, were human life! When magic lore abjured its might, Ye did not forfeit one dear right, One tender claim abate; Witness this symbol of your sway, Surviving near the public way, The rustic Wishing-gate! Inquire not if the faery race Shed kindly influence on the place, Ere northward they retired; If here a warrior left a spell, Panting for glory as he fell; Or here a saint expired. Enough that all around is fair, Composed with Nature's finest care, And in her fondest love -- Peace to embosom and content -- To overawe the turbulent, The selfish to reprove. Yea! even the Stranger from afar, Reclining on this moss-grown bar, Unknowing, and unknown, The infection of the ground partakes, Longing for his Beloved -- who makes All happiness her own. Then why should conscious Spirits fear The mystic stirrings that are here, The ancient faith disclaim? The local Genius ne'er befriends Desires whose course in folly ends, Whose just reward is shame. Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, If some, by ceaseless pains outworn, Here crave an easier lot; If some have thirsted to renew A broken vow, or bind a true, With firmer, holier knot. And not in vain, when thoughts are cast Upon the irrevocable past, Some Penitent sincere May for a worthier future sigh, While trickles from his downcast eye No unavailing tear. The Worldling, pining to be freed From turmoil, who would turn or speed The current of his fate, Might stop before this favoured scene, At Nature's call, nor blush to lean Upon the Wishing-gate. The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak Is man, though loth such help to 'seek', Yet, passing, here might pause, And thirst for insight to allay Misgiving, while the crimson day In quietness withdraws; Or when the church-clock's knell profound To Time's first step across the bound Of midnight makes reply; Time pressing on with starry crest, To filial sleep upon the breast Of dread eternity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A JEWISH FAMILY; IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ADMONITION [TO A TRAVELLER] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AN APRIL MORNING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ANIMAL TRANQUILITY AND DECAY; A SKETCH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AT FLORENCE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS; SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BUONAPARTE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, 1803 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE NEAR CALAIS [AUGUST 1802] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |
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