Sonnet VII
By Derwent’s rapid stream as oft I stray’d,
With Infancy’s light step and glances wild,
And saw vast rocks, on steepy mountains pil’d,
Frown o’er th’ umbrageous glen; or pleas’d survey’d
The cloudy moonshine in the shadowy glade,
Romantic Nature to th’ enthusiast Child
Grew dearer far than when serene she smil’d,
In uncontrasted loveliness array’d.
But O! in every Scene, with sacred sway,
Her graces fire me; from the bloom that spreads
Resplendent in the lucid morn of May,
To the green light the little Glow-worm sheds
On mossy banks, when midnight glooms prevail,
And softest Silence broods o’er all the dale.