Passages like this one (from "Book Second") are why Wordsworth's The Prelude is worth copying out. I think the "your" toward the end of the stanza is Coleridge, or a childhood premonition of Coleridge, but I could be wrong.

Our steeds remounted and the summons given,

With whip and spur we through the chauntry flew

In uncouth race, and left the cross-legged knight,

And the stone abbot, and that single wren

Which one day sang so sweetly in the nave

Of the old church, that—though from recent showers

The earth was comfortless, and touched by faint

Internal breezes, sobbings of the place

And respirations, from the roofless walls

The shuddering ivy dripped large drops—yet still

So sweetly ’mid the gloom the invisible bird

Sang to herself, that there I could have made

My dwelling-place, and lived for ever there

To hear such music. Through the walls we flew

And down the valley, and, a circuit made

In wantonness of heart, through rough and smooth

We scampered homewards. Oh, ye rocks and streams,

And that still spirit shed from evening air!

Even in this joyous time I sometimes felt

Your presence, when with slackened step we breathed

Along the sides of the steep hills, or when

Lighted by gleams of moonlight from the sea

We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand.