# Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/Written in my Pocket Copy of the Castle of Indolence

V.
STANZAS
WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
Within our happy Castle there dwelt One Whom without blame I may not overlook; For never sun on living creature shone Who more devout enjoyment with us took. Here on his hours he hung as on a book; On his own time here would he float away; As doth a fly upon a summer brook; But go to-morrow—or belike to-day— Seek for him,—he is fled; and whither none can say.
Thus often would he leave our peaceful home And find elsewhere his business or delight; Out of our Valley's limits did he roam: Full many a time, upon a stormy night, His voice came to us from the neighbouring height: ​Oft did we see him driving full in view At mid-day when the sun was shining bright; What ill was on him, what he had to do, A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.
Ah! piteous sight it was to see this man When he came back to us, a withered flower,— Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan. Down would he sit; and without strength or power Look at the common grass from hour to hour: And oftentimes, how long I fear to say, Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower, Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.
Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was Whenever from our Valley he withdrew; For happier soul no living creature has Than he had, being here the long day through. Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong: But Verse was what he had been wedded to; And his own mind did like a tempest strong Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.
​With him there often walked in friendly guise Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree A noticeable Man with large grey eyes, And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly As if a blooming face it ought to be; Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy; Profound his forehead was, though not severe; Yet some did think that he had little business here:
Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy; His limbs would toss about him with delight Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy To banish listlessness and irksome care; He would have taught you how you might employ Yourself; and many did to him repair,— And, certes, not in vain; he had inventions rare.
Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried: Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay, ​Made—to his ear attentively applied— A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play; Glasses he had, that little things display,— The beetle with his radiance manifold, A mailed angel on a battle day; And cups of flowers, and herbage green and gold; And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.
He would entice that other Man to hear His music, and to view his imagery: And, sooth, these two did love each other dear, As far as love in such a place could be; There did they dwell—from earthly labour free, As happy spirits as were ever seen; If but a bird, to keep them company, Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden Queen.