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A traveler returns in the spring to appreciate his home, his old love, with new eyes and a new song.

Composed at Rydal on May Morning, 1838

— by William Wordsworth

If with old love of you, dear Hills! I share New love of many a rival image brought From far, forgive the wanderings of my thought: Nor art thou wronged, sweet May! when I compare Thy present birth-morn with thy last, so fair, So rich to me in favours. For my lot Then was, within the famed Egerian Grot To sit and muse, fanned by its dewy air Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning too, Warblers I heard their joy unbosoming Amid the sunny, shadowy, Coliseum; Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue, For victories there won by flower-crowned Spring, Chant in full choir their innocent Te Deum.