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The poet-loving Youth went forth; and clear
Stood the far coast across a glittering tide;
But how forlorn those faint-blue rocky tops!
How emptied of its joy the enchanted ground!
He paced the strand, and raised his eyes anew,
And saw as 'twere a halo round the peaks.
Something of Him abides there, and will stay;
Those Mountains were in Wordsworth's soul; his soul
Is on those Mountains, now, and evermore.