The River Eden, Cumberland

— by William Wordsworth

Eden! till now thy beauty had I viewed By glimpses only, and confess with shame That verse of mine, whate’er its varying mood, Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name: Yet fetched from Paradise that honour came, Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers That have no rivals among British bowers; And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame. Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay To my life’s neighbour dues of neighbourhood; But I have traced thee on thy winding way With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained— For things far off we toil, while many a good Not sought, because too near, is never gained.