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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
England: Vols. I–IV. 1876–79.

Thurston Mere

Thurston Mere

By William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

From “The Prelude

A GROVE there is whose boughs

Stretched from the western marge of Thurston Mere

With length of shade so thick, that whoso glides

Along the line of low-roofed water moves

As in a cloister. Once—while, in that shade

Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light

Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed

In silent beauty on the naked ridge

Of a high eastern hill—thus flowed my thoughts

In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart:

Dear native regions, wheresoe’er shall close

My mortal course, there will I think on you;

Dying, will cast on you a backward look;

Even as this setting sun (albeit the vale

Is nowhere touched by one memorial gleam)

Doth with the fond remains of his last power

Still linger, and a farewell lustre sheds

On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose.