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1770–1850

III

William Wordsworth

They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND, in old time; A happy people won for thee that name With envy heard in many a distant clime; And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same

Endearing title, a responsive chime To the heart's fond belief; though some there are Whose sterner judgments deem that world a snare For inattentive Fancy, like the lime

Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, This face of rural beauty be a mask For discontent, and poverty, and crime; These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will?

Forbid it, Heaven! - andMERRY ENGLAND still Shallbe thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme!

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III · William Wordsworth · Poetry Cove