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Poem by William Wordsworth
THE STRUGGLING rill insensibly is grown Into a brook of loud and stately march, Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch; And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone Chosen for ornament,—stone matched with stone In studied symmetry, with interspace For the clear waters to pursue their race Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown, Succeeding,—still succeeding! Here the child Puts, when the high-swollen flood runs fierce and wild, His budding courage to the proof; and here Declining manhood learns to note the sly And sure encroachments of infirmity, Thinking how fast time runs, life’s end how near!
Poem Theme: Duddon
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