Yarrow Revisited..a Bit of Poetry.


BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH


The gallant Youth, who may have gained,

Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow,"

Was but an Infant in the lap

When first I looked on Yarrow;

Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate

Long left without a warder,

I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,

Great Minstrel of the Border!


Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day,

Their dignity installing

In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves

Were on the bough, or falling;

But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed-

The forest to embolden;

Reddened the fiery hues, and shot

Transparence through the golden.


For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on

In foamy agitation;

And slept in many a crystal pool

For quiet contemplation: