Poems By W. C. Bennett: New ed |
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[So this is yours, our Wordsworth's pictured face] |
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Poems | ||
509
[So this is yours, our Wordsworth's pictured face]
So this is yours, our Wordsworth's pictured face,Great poet of the quiet lakes and hills,
Who with the gentle peace of nature stills
The fever of our lives. A peaceful place
God gave him 'mongst our toils, so the great race
He sprang from, 'mid their labours, cares and ills,
With the calm blessedness he felt, he fills,
With love of wisdom, beauty, good and grace.
When you last came, you held his living hand,
And, with what reverence, heard his every word.
Through a sweeet day, with you, he of your land
Of freemen talked, or thought or feeling stirred
With converse of his art, rolling his grand
Deep verse out. O that I that voice had heard!
Poems | ||