On Boundlessness by William Wordsworth

  I seemed to learn

That what we see of forms and images

Which float along our minds, and what we feel

Of active or recognizable thought

Prospectiveness, or intellect, or will,

Non only is not worthy to be deemed

Our being, to be prized as what we are,

But is the very littleness of life,

Such consciousness I deem but accidents,

Relapses from the one interior life

That lives in all things, sacred from the touch

Of that false secondary power by which

In weakness we create distinctions, then

Believe that all our puny boundaries are things

Which we perceive and not which we have made,

- In which all beings live with god, themselves

Are god, existing in the mighty whole,

As indistinguishable as the cloudless East

At noon is from the cloudless West, when all

The hemisphere is one cerulean blue.

(Ms fragment intended for <i>The Prelude</i>)