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Lo! where the Moon along the sky Sails with her happy destiny; Oft is she hid from mortal eye Or dimly seen, But when the clouds asunder fly How bright her mien!
Far different we--a froward race, Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace With cherished sullenness of pace Their way pursue, Ingrates who wear a smileless face The whole year through.
If kindred humours e'er would make My spirit droop for drooping's sake, From Fancy following in thy wake, Bright ship of heaven! A counter impulse let me take And be forgiven.
William Wordsworth
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Read poems about / on: destiny, happy, moon, heaven, sky, night
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William Wordsworth
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