Inversnaid THIS darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollrock highroad roaring down, In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam, Flutes and low to the lake falls home. A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth Turns and twindles over the broth Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning, It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning. Degged with des, dappled with dew Sre the groins of the braes that the brook threads through, Wiry hethpacks, flitches of fern, And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn. What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long lives the weeds and the wilderness yet. Gerard Manley Hopkins