Silence touched me here No less than sound had done before; the child Of Summer, lingering, shining, by herself, The voiceless worm on the unfrequented hills, Seemed sent on the same errand with the choir 40 Of Winter that had warbled at my door, And the whole year breathed tenderness and love.
The last night's genial feeling overflowed Upon this morning, and my favourite grove, Tossing in sunshine its dark boughs aloft, [F] 45 As if to make the strong wind visible, Wakes in me agitations like its own, A spirit friendly to the Poet's task, Which we will now resume with lively hope, Nor checked by aught of tamer argument 50 That lies before us, needful to be told.
Returned from that excursion, [G] soon I bade Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats [H] Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower, And every comfort of that privileged ground, 55 Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among The unfenced regions of society.
Yet, undetermined to what course of life I should adhere, and seeming to possess A little space of intermediate time 60 At full command, to London first I turned, [I] In no disturbance of excessive hope, By personal ambition unenslaved, Frugal as there was need, and, though self-willed, From dangerous passions free.

Three years had flown [K] 65 Since I had felt in heart and soul the shock Of the huge town's first presence, and had paced Her endless streets, a transient visitant: [K] Now, fixed amid that concourse of mankind Where Pleasure whirls about incessantly, 70 And life and labour seem but one, I filled An idler's place; an idler well content To have a house (what matter for a home ?) That owned him; living cheerfully abroad With unchecked fancy ever on the stir, 75 And all my young affections out of doors.
There was a time when whatsoe'er is feigned Of airy palaces, and gardens built By Genii of romance; or hath in grave Authentic history been set forth of Rome, 80 Alcairo, Babylon, or Persepolis; Or given upon report by pilgrim friars, Of golden cities ten months' journey deep Among Tartarian wilds--fell short, far short, Of what my fond simplicity believed 85 And thought of London--held me by a chain Less strong of wonder and obscure delight.
Whether the bolt of childhood's Fancy shot For me beyond its ordinary mark, 'Twere vain to ask; but in our flock of boys 90 Was One, a cripple from his birth, whom chance Summoned from school to London; fortunate And envied traveller! When the Boy returned, After short absence, curiously I scanned His mien and person, nor was free, in sooth, 95 From disappointment, not to find some change In look and air, from that new region brought, As if from Fairy-land.

Much I questioned him; And every word he uttered, on my ears Fell flatter than a caged parrot's note, 100 That answers unexpectedly awry, And mocks the prompter's listening.

Marvellous things Had vanity (quick Spirit that appears Almost as deeply seated and as strong In a Child's heart as fear itself) conceived 105 For my enjoyment.

Would that I could now Recal what then I pictured to myself, Of mitred Prelates, Lords in ermine clad, The King, and the King's Palace, and, not last, Nor least, Heaven bless him! the renowned Lord Mayor: 110 Dreams not unlike to those which once begat A change of purpose in young Whittington, When he, a friendless and a drooping boy, Sate on a stone, and heard the bells speak out Articulate music.