Nun's Well, Brigham
The cattle crowding round this beverage clear To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod The encircling turf into a barren clod; Through which the waters creep, then disappear, Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone cell Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well," Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) A tender Spirit broods, the pensive Shade Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid By hooded Votaresses with saintly cheer; Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."
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"The cattle crowding round this beverage clear..."
William Wordsworth's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Nun's Well, Brigham"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...