eh?

Prelude-William Wordsworth

Imagination-here the Power so called,
Through sad incompetence of human speech,
That awful Power rose from the mind's abyss,
Like an unfathered vapor that enwraps,
At once, some lonely traveler. I was lost;
Halted without an effort to break through;
But to my concious soul I now can say-
"I recognize your glory": in such strength
Of usurpation, when the light of sense
Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed
The invisible world, does greatness make abode,
There harbours; whether we be young or old,
Our destiny, our being's heart and home,
Is with infitude, and only there;
With hope it is, hope that can never die,
Effort, and expectation, and desire,
And something evermore about to be.
Under such banners militant, the soul
Seeks no trophies, struggles for no spoils
That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts
That are their own perfection and reward.

Wow. Good poet. Dang. C.S. Lewis actually took the title of his book, Surprised By Joy, out of one of Wordsworth's poems. I can't say I necessarily agree with everything in this poem, but it was exceptionally written, and I find it quite enjoyable to read.