<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536325" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXI</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Switzerland, the land of lakes and snow,<br>And ancient freedom of ancestral type,<br>And modern innkeepers, who cringe and bow,<br>And venal echoes, and Pans paid to pipe!<br>See, I am come. And here in vineyards, ripe<br>With sweet white grapes, I will sit down and read<br>Once more the loves of Rousseau, till I wipe<br>My eyes in tenderness for names long dead.<br>This is the birthplace of all sentiment,<br>The fount of modern tears. These hills in me<br>Stir what still lives of fancy reverent<br>For Mother Nature. Here Time's minstrelsy<br>Awoke, some century since, one sunny morn,<br>To find Earth fortunate, and Man forlorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536325" data-title="A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXI de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="To Switzerland, the land of lakes and snow, And ancient freedom of ancestral type, And modern innkeepers, who cringe and bow, And venal echoes, and Pans paid to pipe! See, I am come. And here in vineyards, ripe With sweet white grapes, I will sit ..."></div> </div> </div>

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