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Poem by William Wordsworth
The Plain of Donnerdale
The old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains - The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferred to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken;-a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, Innocuous as a firstling of the flock, And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!
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