| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909. | | | | The Trosachs | | By William Wordsworth (1770–1850) |
| | | THERE’S not a nook within this solemn Pass, | |
| But were an apt confessional for One | |
| Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, | |
| That Life is but a tale of morning grass | |
| Wither’d at eve. From scenes of art which chase | 5 |
| That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes | |
| Feed it ’mid Nature’s old felicities, | |
| Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass | |
| Untouch’d, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, | |
| If from a golden perch of aspen spray | 10 |
| (October’s workmanship to rival May) | |
| The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast | |
| That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, | |
| Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! | | | | |
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