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Poem by William Wordsworth


Killin


The Earl of Breadalbanes Ruined Mansion, 
and Family Burial-place, near Killin

WELL sang the bard who called the grave, in strains
Thoughtful and sad, the narrow house. No style
Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile
Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains
The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile
With truth, or with each other, decked remains
Of a once warm abode, and that new pile,
For the departed, built with curious pains
And mausolean pomp? Yet here they stand
Together,mid trim walks and artful bowers,
To be looked down upon by ancient hills,
That, for the living and the dead, demand
And prompt a harmony of genuine powers;
Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.



William Wordsworth


William Wordsworth's other poems:
  1. Monastery of Old Bangor
  2. To the Lady Eleanor Butler and the Hon. Miss Ponsonby
  3. Mona
  4. Miserrimus
  5. The Brownie


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