Hail to the fields–with Dwellings sprinkled o’er,
And one small hamlet, under a green hill
Clustering, with barn and byre, and spouting mill!
A glance suffices;–should we wish for more,
Gay June would scorn us. But when bleak winds roar
Through the stiff lance-like shoots of pollard ash,
Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash
The matted forests of Ontario’s shore
By wasteful steel unsmitten–then would I
Turn into port; and, reckless of the gale,
Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by,
While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale,
Laugh with the generous household heartily
At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale!
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XIV - O Mountain Stream
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XV - From This Deep Chasm, Where Quivering Sunbeams Play
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XVI - American Tradition
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XVII - A Dark Plume Fetch Me From Yon Blasted Yew
- The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - XVIII - Seathwaite Chapel
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