Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce
Of that serene companion–a good name,
Recovers not his loss; but walks with shame,
With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse:
And oft-times he–who, yielding to the force
Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end,
From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend–
In vain shall rue the broken intercourse.
Not so with such as loosely wear the chain
That binds them, pleasant River, to thy side:–
Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty stride;
I choose to saunter o’er the grassy plain,
Sure, when the separation has been tried,
That we, who part in love, shall meet again.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
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