Simplon Pass, The

William Wordsworth

------Brook and road 
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, 
And with them did we journey several hours 
At a slow step. The immeasurable height 
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 
The stationary blasts of waterfalls, 
And in the narrow rent, at every turn, 
Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, 
The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, 
The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 
Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside 
As if a voice were in them, the sick sight 
And giddy prospect of the raving stream, 
The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, 
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light-- 
Were all like workings of one mind, the features 
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, 
Characters of the great Apocalypse, 
The types and symbols of Eternity, 
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 

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