The Inner Vision
William Wordsworth, 1807

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
     To pace the ground, if path there be or none,
     While a fair region round the Traveller lies
     Which he forbears again to look upon;

     Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene
     The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
     Of meditation, slipping in between
     The beauty coming and the beauty gone.

     --If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
     Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
     With Thought and Love companions of our way--

     Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,--
     The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
     Of inspiration on the humblest lay.