Saying Farewell the Jerwood Center

We spent our last hours in the library looking at more treasures, such as a first edition of Frankenstein, and Wordsworth’s copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, reflecting on our week with some writing, before a farewell reading.

"A Farewell"

          FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
          Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
          Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
          One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
          Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
          The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
          Farewell!--we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
          Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.

          Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
          And there will safely ride when we are gone;                
          The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door
          Will prosper, though untended and alone:
          Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
          These narrow bounds contain our private store
          Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon;
          Here are they in our sight--we have no more.

          Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
          For two months now in vain we shall be sought:
          We leave you here in solitude to dwell
          With these our latest gifts of tender thought;              20
          Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
          Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
          Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
          And placed together near our rocky Well.

          Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
          Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
          Among the distant mountains, flower and weed,
          Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own,
          Making all kindness registered and known;
          Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
          Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
          Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. [...]

          O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
          Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
          And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
          Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,         
          And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
          Two burning months let summer overleap,
          And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
          Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
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