Darkness surrounds us; seeking, we are lost
On Snowdon’s wilds, amid Brigantian coves,
Or where the solitary shepherd roves
Along the plain of Sarum, by the ghost
Of Time and shadows of Tradition, crost;
And where the boatman of the Western Isles
Slackens his course, to mark those holy piles
Which yet survive on bleak Iona’s coast.
Nor these, nor monuments of eldest name,
Nor Taliesin’s unforgotten lays,
Nor characters of Greek or Roman fame,
To an unquestionable Source have led;
Enough, if eyes, that sought the fountainhead
In vain, upon the growing Rill may gaze.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - VI - Persecution
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - VII - Recovery
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - VIII - Temptations From Roman Refinements
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - X - Struggle Of The Britons Against The Barbarians
- Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - XI - Saxon Conquest
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