Treasure Island

William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

A Parsonage In Oxfordshire


Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Is marked by no distinguishable line;
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends,
Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends,
And neighbours rest together, here confound
Their several features, mingled like the sound
Of many waters, or as evening blends
With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower,
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;
And while those lofty poplars gently wave
Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
To saints accorded in their mortal hour.

Submitted: Monday, April 05, 2010

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  • * Sunprincess * (3/15/2014 7:20:00 AM)

    A Parsonage In Oxfordshire



    Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
    Is marked by no distinguishable line;
    The turf unites, the pathways intertwine;
    And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends,
    Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends,
    And neighbours rest together, here confound
    Their several features, mingled like the sound
    Of many waters, or as evening blends
    With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower,
    Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;
    And while those lofty poplars gently wave
    Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
    Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
    To saints accorded in their mortal hour.
    .....I can feel the essence of peace
    coming through in this write...enjoyed.. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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