To the River Duddon

O Duddon! a ceaseless rush of thine, No place in this world, is half so fine, In springtime’s gentle hue I dwell, Where all nature sings, as if to tell.

Thou wanderest meekly among the flowers, Skimming over in echoic showers, Where sunbeams dance upon thy flow, And the breaks of silence in whispers low.

In this quiet anchorage, I know, Eternity lays waiting, strong and slow, A keeper, guiding thoughts like birds, The glades speak truth, in double words.

Dear River, thy stories carving stones, A crown of calm upon older bones, With every turn and fate’s embrace, My heart will find its truest place.

• Dorothy Wordsworth