There was a boy ...

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"There was a boy ye knew him well, ye rocks

And islands of Winander & ye green

Peninsulas of Esthwaite many a time

When the stars began

To move along the edges of the hills

Rising or setting would he stand alone

Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lakes

And through his fingers woven in one close knot

Blow mimic hootings to the silent owls

And bid them answer him. And they would shout

Across the wat'ry vale & shout again

Responsive to my call with tremulous sobs

And long halloos & screams & echoes loud

Redoubled & redoubled a wild scene

Of mirth & jocund din. And when it chanced

That pauses of deep silence mocked my skill

Then, often, in that silence while I hung

Listening a sudden shock of mild surprize

Would carry far into my heart the voice

Of mountain torrents: or the visible scene

Would enter unawares into my mind

With all its solemn imagery its rocks

Its woods & that uncertain heaven received

Into the bosom of the steady lake . . ."

William Wordsworth