Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/45

 And no return be made by me? No, let this wish on thee await, And still to flourish be thy fate; To future ages may'st thou stand Untouched by the rash workman's hand; 'Till that large stock of sap be spent, Which gives thy summer's ornament; Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive To shock thy greatness whilst alive, Shall on thy lifeless hour attend, Prevent the axe, and grace thy end; Their scattered strength together call, And to the clouds proclaim thy fall.

Rh