William Wordsworth

England
7 Apr 1770 // 23 Apr 1850
Poet

The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite,—a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.
.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey


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