Methinks that I could trip o’er heaviest soil,
Light as a buoyant bark from wave to wave,
Were mine the trusty staff that Jewel gave
To youthful Hooker, in familiar style
The gift exalting, and with playful smile:
For thus equipped, and bearing on his head
The Donor’s farewell blessing, can he dread
Tempest, or length of way, or weight of toil?
More sweet than odours caught by him who sails
Near spicy shores of Araby the blest,
A thousand times more exquisitely sweet,
The freight of holy feeling which we meet,
In thoughtful moments, wafted by the gales
From fields where good men walk, or bowers wherein they rest.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXV - Cranmer
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVI - General View Of The Troubles Of The Reformation
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVII - English Reformers In Exile
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVIII - Elizabeth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - I - I Saw The Figure Of A Lovely Maid
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