But Nature, though we mark her not,
Will take away, may cease to give. 20
Perchance when you are wandering forth
Upon some vacant sunny day,
Without an object, hope, or fear,
Thither your eyes may turn—the Isle is passed away;
Buried beneath the glittering Lake, 25
Its place no longer to be found;
Yet the lost fragments shall remain
To fertilize some other ground.