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William Wordsworth - Written In Very Early Youth
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      CALM is all nature as a resting wheel.
      The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
      The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
      Is cropping audibly his later meal:
      Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
      O`er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
      Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
      Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
      That grief for which the senses still supply
      Fresh food; for only then, when memory                          
      Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
      Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
      Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
      The officious touch that makes me droop again.
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