There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs <br />And islands of Winander!--many a time, <br />At evening, when the earliest stars began <br />To move along the edges of the hills, <br />Rising or setting, would he stand alone, <br />Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake; <br />And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands <br />Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth <br />Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, <br />Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, <br />That they might answer him.--And they would shout <br />Across the watery vale, and shout again, <br />Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals, <br />And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud <br />Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild <br />Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause <br />Of silence such as baffled his best skill: <br />Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung <br />Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise <br />Has carried far into his heart the voice <br />Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene <br />Would enter unawares into his mind <br />With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, <br />Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received <br />Into the bosom of the steady lake. <br />This boy was taken from his mates, and died <br />In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. <br />Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale <br />Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs <br />Upon a slope above the village-school; <br />And, through that church-yard when my way has led <br />On summer-evenings, I believe, that there <br />A long half-hour together I have stood <br />Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-was-a-boy/
