TO taste 
 Wild wine of the mountain-spring, fresh, living, strong, 
 Running and rushing like a triumph-song 
 Round hearts new-braced: 
 
To smell 
 A growing cowslip, some glad morn of Spring, 
 And breathe the breath of every fragrant thing 
 From every bell: 
 
To touch 
 A sliding wavelet, supple, smooth and thin,? 
 Just ere the pois?d and perfect crests begin 
 To bend too much: 
 
To hear 
 Amid May twilight, by the murmuring sea, 
 Some blackbird warbling from a budded tree, 
 Tender and clear: 
 
To see 
 Down young rose-petals how the deepening light 
 Glides gradually, till, somewhere out of sight, 
 What light must be!? 
 
O Thou, intense 
 Rapture of Beauty! All-pervading Lord! 
 Is not this worship? So art Thou ador?d 
 By every sense