Sad thoughts, avaunt!–partake we their blithe cheer
Who gathered in betimes the unshorn flock
To wash the fleece, where haply bands of rock,
Checking the stream, make a pool smooth and clear
As this we look on. Distant Mountains hear,
Hear and repeat, the turmoil that unites
Clamour of boys with innocent despites
Of barking dogs, and bleatings from strange fear.
And what if Duddon’s spotless flood receive
Unwelcome mixtures as the uncouth noise
Thickens, the pastoral River will forgive
Such wrong; nor need we blame the licensed joys,
Though false to Nature’s quiet equipoise:
Frank are the sports, the stains are fugitive.
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More by William Wordsworth
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XXIV - The Resting Place
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XXV - Methinks 'twere No Unprecedented Feat
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XXVI - Return, Content! For Fondly I Pursued
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XXVII - Fallen, And Diffused Into A Shapeless Heap
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XXVIII - Journey Renewed
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