 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
III
Or I constrain the poets to my call;—
With Homer, staff in hand, and lyre on back,
Stumbling and sightless on the upland track,
Or praised and honoured in the echoing hall,
With Homer, staff in hand, and lyre on back,
Stumbling and sightless on the upland track,
Or praised and honoured in the echoing hall,
79
Hear from his lips the rolling thunders fall;
Or sit with Virgil in the orchard-edge,
Hearing the bees hum in the privet hedge,
And deep-mouthed cattle lowing from the stall.
Or sit with Virgil in the orchard-edge,
Hearing the bees hum in the privet hedge,
And deep-mouthed cattle lowing from the stall.
Or I can follow Una's peerless knight
Riding alone in mountain solitudes,
Where Awbey leaps from Bally-howra hill;
Or trace the clear impetuous Rotha rill,
With Wordsworth, mouthing music in the woods,
His eyes transfigured with a sacred light.
Riding alone in mountain solitudes,
Where Awbey leaps from Bally-howra hill;
Or trace the clear impetuous Rotha rill,
With Wordsworth, mouthing music in the woods,
His eyes transfigured with a sacred light.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |