What was it in the bird's song gave the water That living, sentient look? Lent the rare brightness to the hedge? That sweetness shook
Down on the green path by the running water? Or the small daisies lit With light of the white northern stars In dark skies set?
What was it made the whole world marvellous? Mere common things were joys. The cloud running upon the grass, Children's faint noise,
The trees that grow straight up and stretch wide arms, The snow heaped in the skies, The light falling so simply on all; My lifted eyes
That all this startling aching beauty saw? I felt the sharp excess Of joy like the strong sun at noon-- Insupportable bliss!
Most comfortable Light, Light of the small lamp burning up the night, With dawn enleagued against the beaten dark; Pure golden perfect spark;
Or sudden wind-bright flame, That but the strong-handed wind can urge or tame; Chill loveliest light the kneeling clouds between, Silverly serene;
Comfort of happy light, That mouse-like leaps amid brown leaves, cheating sight; Clear naked stars, burning with swift intense Earthward intelligence;--
Sensitive, single Points in the dark inane that purely tingle With eager fire, pouring night's circles through Their living blue;
Dark light still waters hold; Broad silver moonpath trodden into gold: Candle-flame glittering through the traveller's night-- Most comfortable light....
And lovelier, the eye Where light from darkness shines unfathomably, Light secret, clear, shallow, profound, known, strange, Constant alone in change:--
Not that wild light that turns Hunted from dying eyes when the last fire burns; O, not that bitter light of wounded things, When bony anguish springs
Sudden, intolerable; Nor light of mad eyes gleaming up from hell.... Come not again, wild light! Shine not again, Hill-flare of pain!
But thou, most holy light.... Not the noon blaze that stings, too fiercely bright, Not that unwinking stare of shameless day; But thou, the gray,
Nun-like and silent, still, Fine-breathed on many an eastern bare green hill; Keen light of gray eyes, cool rain, and stern spears; Sad light, but not to tears:--
--O, comfort thou of eyes Watching expectant from chill northern skies, Excellent joy for lids heavy with night-- Strange with delight!