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THERE is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the
midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Not loth to furnish weapons for the
Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's Heaths ; or Those ...
Cambrian Hills To the south-west, a multitudinous show ; And, in a line of eye-
sight linked with these, The hoary Peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's
Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde; — Crowding the quarter whence the sun
O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough ; But, though so
near, we will not turn Into the Dale of Yarrow. Let Beeves and home-bred Kine
partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; The Swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float
... followed each, With something of a lofty utterance drest ; Choice word, and
measured phrase ; above the reach Of ordinary men ; a stately speech ; Such as
grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religiousmen, who give toGod andMan their
Tour in Scotland written by a Friend, the last line being taken from it verbatim
Page 227. — Song, at the Feast of Brougham Castle. Henry Lord Clifford, &c. &c,
who is the subject of this Poem, was the son of John Lord Clifford, who was slain
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the kitten of the filling leaves bp[y willam words worth
My favorite is "Solitary Reaper". When I first read it, I fell in love with the poem. It's like Wordsworth wrote it for me only.
I always feel understood and totally embraced everytime I read this poem and walk away with a full heart.