Not envying Latian shades, if yet they throw
A grateful coolness round that crystal Spring,
Blandusia, prattling–as when long ago
The Sabine Bard was moved her praise to sing;
Careless of flowers that in perennial blow
Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling;
Heedless of Alpine torrents thundering
Through ice-built arches radiant as heaven’s bow;
I seek the birth-place of a native Stream.–
All hail, ye mountains! hail, thou morning light!
Better to breathe at large on this clear height
Than toil in needless sleep from dream to dream:
Pure flow the verse, pure, vigorous, free, and bright,
For Duddon, long-loved Duddon, is my theme!\n
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
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