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 forward race, thousands though
Rich in Fortune’s grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smile less face
The whole year through.
If kindred humourse’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
Mortal : deadly
Mien : manner; bearing
Sullenness : sadness
Drooping : hanging down
