Poem by William Wordsworth

The River Duddon (WHENCE that low voice?)

WHENCE that low voice? A whisper from the heart,
That told of days long past, when here I roved
With friends and kindred tenderly beloved;
Some who had early mandates to depart,
Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart
By Duddon’s side; once more do we unite,
Once more beneath the kind earth’s tranquil light,
And smothered joys into new being start.
From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall
Of time, breaks forth triumphant Memory;
Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and free
As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall
On gales that breathe too gently to recall
Aught of the fading year’s inclemency!

1. Processions
2. Monastery of Old Bangor
3. Inside of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge: Continued
4. Gordale
5. Roman Antiquities

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