Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - XXII - Continued
Methinks that to some vacant hermitage 'My' feet would rather turn to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage, Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage In the soft heaven of a translucent pool; Thence creeping under sylvan arches cool, Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage Would elevate my dreams. A beechen bowl, A maple dish, my furniture should be; Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl My night-watch: nor should e'er the crested fowl From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry.
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"Methinks that to some vacant hermitage..."
"Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part I. - XXII - Continued" is a quintessential example of William Wordsworth's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...