William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

England Iv

Poem by William Wordsworth

IT is not to be thought of that the flood
   Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
   Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow'd, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
   Which spurns the check of salutary bands,--
   That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
   Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
   That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.--In everything we are sprung
   Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

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Read poems about / on: freedom, evil, faith, lost, sea, dark, world, spring, water

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003