Near Anio’s stream, I spied a gentle Dove

— by William Wordsworth

Near Anio’s stream, I spied a gentle Dove Perched on an olive branch, and heard her cooing ’Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing, While all things present told of joy and love. But restless Fancy left that olive grove To hail the exploratory Bird renewing Hope for the few, who, at the world’s undoing, On the great flood were spared to live and move. O bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and bough Brought to the ark are coming evermore, Given though we seek them not, but, while we plough This sea of life without a visible shore, Do neither promise ask nor grace implore In what alone is ours, the living Now.