The Trosachs
Theres 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 Witherd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it mid Natures old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouchd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray (Octobers 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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"Theres not a nook within this solemn Pass,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, William Wordsworth delivers a powerful performance in "The Trosachs"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...