Bruges I saw attired with golden light
(Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power:
The splendour fled; and now the sunless hour,
That, slowly making way for peaceful night,
Best suits with fallen grandeur, to my sight
Offers the beauty, the magnificence,
And sober graces, left her for defense
Against the injuries of time, the spite
Of fortune, and the desolating storms
Of future war. Advance not, spare to hide,
O gentle Power of darkness! these mild hues;
Obscure not yet these silent avenues
Of stateliest architecture, where the Forms
Of nun-like females, with soft motion, glide!
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More by William Wordsworth
- Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - III. - Bruges
- Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - IV. - After Visiting The Field Of Waterloo
- Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - IX. - Hymn - For The Boatmen, As They Approach The Rapids Under The Castle Of Heidelberg
- Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - V. - Between Namur And Liege
- Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - VI. - Aix-La-Chapelle
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