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Poem by William Wordsworth
THE FLOODS are roused, and will not soon be weary; Down from the Pennine Alps how fiercely sweeps Croglin, the stately EdenТs tributary! He raves, or through some moody passage creeps, Plotting new mischief; out again he leaps Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy, That voice which soothed the nuns while on the steeps They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary. That union ceased; then, cleaving easy walks Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with danger, Came studious Taste; and many a pensive stranger Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks. What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell? Canal, and viaduct, and railway, tell!
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