Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/28

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is this—Yarrow?—This the Stream

Of which my fancy cheris'd,

So faithfully, a waking dream?

An image that hath perish'd!

O that some Minstrel's harp were near,

To utter notes of gladness,

And chase this silence from the air,

That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why?—a silvery current flows

With uncontrolled meanderings;

Nor have these eyes by greener hills

Been soothed, in all my wanderings.

And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake

Is visibly delighted;

For not a feature of those hills

Is in the mirror slighted.