Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - XIV. - Composed In One Of The Catholic Cantons
Doomed as we are our native dust To wet with many a bitter shower, It ill befits us to disdain The altar, to deride the fane, Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust To win a happier hour. I love, where spreads the village lawn, Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze: Hail to the firm unmoving cross, Aloft, where pines their branches toss! And to the chapel far withdrawn, That lurks by lonely ways! Where'er we roam, along the brink Of Rhine, or by the sweeping Po, Through Alpine vale, or champain wide, Whate'er we look on, at our side Be Charity! to bid us think, And feel, if we would know.
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"Doomed as we are our native dust..."
William Wordsworth's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - XIV. - Composed In One Of The Catholic Cantons"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...