Saturday, November 12, 2005

Prelude by William Wordsworth

Three summer days I roam'd, when 'twas my chance
To have before me on the downy Plain
Lines, circles, mounts, a mystery of shapes
Such as in many quarters yet survive,
With intricate profusion figuring o'er
The untill'd ground, the work, as some divine,
Of infant science, imitative forms
By which the Druids covertly express'd
Their knowledge of the heavens ...
I saw the bearded Teachers with white wands
Uplifted, pointing to the starry sky
Alternately, and Plain below, while breath
Of music seemed to guide them, and the Waste
Was chear'd with stillness and a pleasant sound.

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