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Home  »  The Oxford Book of English Verse  »  540. The Trosachs

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.

William Wordsworth. 1770–1850

540. The Trosachs

THERE ‘s not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
  But were an apt confessional for one 
  Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
That Life is but a tale of morning grass 
Wither’d at eve. From scenes of art which chase         5
  That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
  Feed it ‘mid Nature’s old felicities, 
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
Untouch’d, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, 
  If from a golden perch of aspen spray  10
  (October’s workmanship to rival May) 
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
  That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, 
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!