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Normale Version: Addressed to Wootton, the Spot of the Author's Nativity 1
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Addressed to Wootton, the Spot of the Author's Nativity

I

When first upon my childish eyelids broke
The morning sun over that rude flinted tower
Bosomed in antique trees; when first awoke
On each delighted sense the vernal flower,
And birds began, touched by the young spring, to pour
Their tremulous harmony; when first the croak
Of that old rookery, and the woodman's stroke,
Speeded with purest joy mine infant hour.
O dear departed spirits of holy men,
By intellectual efforts purified,
Hovered ye round your earthly haunts again,
To thirst of fame like yours my soul to guide?
It is thus perchance that, from life's earliest dawn,
Forwards by fairy lights my steps are drawn