Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the wind
Charged with rich words poured out in thought’s defense;
Whether the Church inspire that eloquence,
Or a Platonic Piety confined
To the sole temple of the inward mind;
And One there is who builds immortal lays,
Though doomed to tread in solitary ways,
Darkness before and danger’s voice behind;
Yet not alone, nor helpless to repel
Sad thoughts; for from above the starry sphere
Come secrets, whispered nightly to his ear;
And the pure spirit of celestial light
Shines through his soul, “that he may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.”
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
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