Great poetry of William Wordsworth
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Iona by William Wordsworth

On to Iona! What can she afford

To ‘us’ save matter for a thoughtful sigh,

Heaved over ruin with stability

In urgent contrast? To diffuse the WORD

(Thy Paramount, mighty Nature! and Time’s Lord)

Her Temples rose, ‘mid pagan gloom; but why,

Even for a moment, has our verse deplored

Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny?

And when, subjected to a common doom

Of mutability, those far-famed Piles

Shall disappear from both the sister Isles,

Iona’s Saints, forgetting not past days,

Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom,

While heaven’s vast sea of voices chants their praise.

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