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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
176
[Footnote
75:
This
sonnet
was
not
thought
worthy
of
being
preserved.--ED.]
We
had
a
sweet
ride
till
we
came
to
a
public-house
on
the
side
of
a
hill,
where
we
alighted
and
walked
down
to
see
the
waterfalls.
The
sun
was
not
set,
and
the
woods
and
fields
were
spread
over
with
the
yellow
light
of
evening,
which
made
their
greenness
a
thousand
times
more
green.
There
was
too
much
water
in
the
river
for
the
beauty
of
the
falls,
and
even
the
banks
were
less
interesting
than
in
winter.
Nature
had
entirely
got
the
better
in
her
struggles
against
the
giants
who
first
cast
the
mould
of
these
works;
for,
indeed,
it
is
a
place
that
did
not
in
winter
remind
one
of
God,
but
one
could
not
help
feeling
as
if
there
had
been
the
agency
of
some
"mortal
instruments,"
which
Nature
had
been
struggling
against
without
making
a
perfect
conquest.
There
was
something
so
wild
and
new
in
this
feeling,
knowing,
as
we
did
in
the
inner
man,
that
God
alone
had
laid
his
hand
upon
it,
that
I
could
not
help
regretting
the
want
of
it;
besides,
it
is
a
pleasure
to
a
real
lover
of
Nature
to
give
winter
all
the
glory
he
can,
for
summer
will
make
its
own
way,
and
speak
its
own
praises.
We
saw
the
pathway
which
William
and
I
took
at
the
close
of
evening,
the
path
leading
to
the
rabbit
warren
where
we
lost
ourselves.
Sloe
farm,
with
its
holly
hedges,
was
lost
among
the
green
hills
and
hedgerows
in
general,
but
we
found
it
out,
and
were
glad
to
look
at
it
again.
William
left
us
to
seek
the
waterfalls....
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