The Trosachs by William Wordsworth

Album cover art for "The Trosachs by William Wordsworth" by Ghizela Rowe

Ghizela Rowe - Pop

The Trosachs by William Wordsworth

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Lyrics

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass But were an apt confessional for one Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone That Life is but a tale of morning grass Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!

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Credits

Writers
  • William Wordsworth