Explore "A Whirl-Blast from Behind the Hill" by William Wordsworth on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A whirl-blast from behind the hill / Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound: / Then all at once the air was still, / And showers of hail-stones pattered round.
Where leafless Oaks towered high above, / I sat within an undergrove / Of tallest hollies, tall and green; / A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor / With withered leaves is covered o'er, / You could not lay a hair between: / And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where'er the hailstones drop / The withered leaves all skip and hop, / There's not a breeze -- no breath of air --
Yet here, and there, and every where / Along the floor, beneath the shade / By those embowering hollies made, / The leaves in myriads jump and spring, / As if with pipes and music rare / Some Robin Good-fellow were there, / And all those leaves, that jump and spring, / Were each a joyous, living thing.
Oh! grant me Heaven a heart at ease, / That I may never cease to find, / Even in appearances like these, / Enough to nourish and to stir my mind!