Poetry . . . Sheer Poetry

I posted this Wordsworth poem on social media a few years back for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was it stirred up beautiful images and emotions within me.

Reading it again just now, it conjures up pictures of Radnor Lake State Park (or anywhere where nature still reigns over man-made habitations).

I still believe poetry is good for the soul. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I have:

“And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,  
Forebode not any severing of our loves!  
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;  
I only have relinquish’d one delight  
To live beneath your more habitual sway.  
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,  
Even more than when I tripp’d lightly as they;  
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day  
Is lovely yet;  
The clouds that gather round the setting sun  
Do take a sober colouring from an eye  
That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;  
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.  
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,  
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,  
To me the meanest flower that blows can give  
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears” (William Wordsworth).

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