Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/159

99 Comes to this church-yard once in eighteen months;

And yet, some changes must take place among you:

And you, who dwell here, even among these rocks

Can trace the finger of mortality,

And see, that with our threescore years and ten

We are not all that perish.I remember,

For many years ago I passed this road,

There was a foot-way all along the fields

By the brook-side—'tis gone—and that dark cleft!

To me it does not seem to wear the face

Which then it had.

.

Nay, Sir, for aught I know,

That chasm is much the same—

.

But, surely, yonder—

.

Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend

That does not play you false—On that tall pike

(It is the loneliest place of all these hills)

There were two Springs which bubbled side by side,

As if they had been made that they might be

Companions for each other: ten years back,

Close to those brother fountains, the huge crag