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Holford Combe

In sunlight-stippled Holford Combe
By gently flowing streams
The spirits of the poets past
Recall Romantics’ dreams
Along these paths, 'tween ancient trees,
Their muse was here inspired
Companion walks, oft deep in thought,
Imagination fired
Here Coleridge found his Xanadu
Here Wordsworth honed his words
With Nature as the crucible
And background songs of birds
Poetry the essence
Distilled from scenery
Conjured seeming effortless

From out the greenery.

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