To deck some slighted playmate’s homely cheek. 
    Yes, I had something of a subtler sense,
  And often looking round was moved to smiles
  Such as a delicate work of humor breeds;
  I read, without design, the opinions, thoughts,
  Of those plain-living people now observed
  With clearer knowledge; with another eye
  I saw the quiet woodman in the woods,
  The shepherd roam the hills.  With new delight,
  This chiefly, did I note my gray-haired Dame;
  Saw her go forth to church or other work
  Of state, equipped in monumental trim;
  Short velvet cloak, (her bonnet of the like,)
  A mantle such as Spanish Cavaliers
  Wore in old time.  Her smooth domestic life,
  Affectionate without disquietude,
  Her talk, her business, pleased me; and no less
  Her clear though sallow stream of piety
  That ran on Sabbath days a fresher course;
  With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read
  Her Bible on hot Sunday afternoons,
  And loved the book, when she had dropped asleep
  And made of it a pillow for her head. 
    Nor less do I remember to have felt,
  Distinctly manifested at this time,
  A human-heartedness about my love
  For objects hitherto the absolute wealth
  Of my own private being and no more: 
  Which I had loved even as a blessed spirit
  Or Angel, if he were to dwell on earth,
  Might love in individual happiness. 
  But now there opened on me other thoughts
  Of change, congratulation or regret,
  A pensive feeling!  It spread far and wide;
  The trees, the mountains shared it, and the brooks,
  The stars of heaven, now seen in their old haunts—­
  White Sirius glittering o’er the southern crags,
  Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven,
  Acquaintances of every little child,
  And Jupiter, my own beloved star! 
  Whatever shadings of mortality,
  Whatever imports from the world of death
  Had come among these objects heretofore,
  Were, in the main, of mood less tender:  strong,
  Deep, gloomy were they, and severe:  the scatterings
  Of awe or tremulous dread, that had given way
  In latter youth to yearnings of a love
  Enthusiastic, to delight and hope. 
    As one who hangs down-bending from the side
  Of a slow-moving boat, upon the breast
  Of a still water, solacing himself
  With such discoveries as his eye can make
  Beneath him in the bottom of the deep,
  Sees many beauteous sights—­weeds, fishes, flowers,
  Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more,
  Yet often is perplexed and cannot part
  The shadow from the substance, rocks and sky
  Mountains and clouds, reflected in the depth
  Of the clear flood, from things which there abide
  In their true dwelling; now is crossed by gleam
  Of his own image, by a sunbeam now,
  And wavering motions sent he knows not whence,
  Impediments that make his task more sweet;