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A WHIRL-BLAST FROM BEHIND THE HILL

These lines, written in March 1798 by a young Wordsworth, show that there's nothing new about the British climate!

They also display close observation of, and a pleasant relish in, the theatrical little scene they describe. Maybe some hints too of the Daffodils to come.

A WHIRL-BLAST FROM BEHIND THE HILL

A whirl-blast from behind the hill

Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;

Then - all at once the air was still,

And showers of hailstones pattered round.

Where leafless oaks towered high above,

I sat within an undergrove

Of tallest hollies, tall and green;

A fairer bower was never seen.

From year to year the spacious floor

With withered leaves is covered o'er,

And all the year the bower is green.

But see! Where'er the hailstones drop

The withered leaves all skip and hop;

There's not a breeze - no breath of air -

Yet here, and there, and every where

Along the floor, beneath the shade

By those embowering hollies made,

The leaves in myriads jump and spring,

As if with pipes and music rare

Some Robin Good-fellow were there,

And all those leaves, in festive glee,

Were dancing to the minstrelsy.

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