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Henry Van Dyke - Wordsworth
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Wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls 
     Among the mountains, and thy song is fed 
     By living springs far up the watershed; 
No whirling flood nor parching drought controls 
The crystal current: even on the shoals
     It murmurs clear and sweet; and when its bed
     Darkens below mysterious cliffs of dread, 
Thy voice of peace grows deeper in our souls. 

But thou in youth hast known the breaking stress
     Of passion, and hast trod despair`s dry ground
          Beneath black thoughts that wither and destroy.
Ah, wanderer, led by human tenderness
     Home to the heart of Nature, thou hast found
          The hidden Fountain of Recovered Joy.
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