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William Wordsworth - To The Poet, John Dyer
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BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made
That work a living landscape fair and bright;
Nor hallowed less with musical delight
Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed,
Those southern tracts of Cambria, "deep embayed,
With green hills fenced, with ocean`s murmur lulled;"
Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled
For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade
Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced,
Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still,         
A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay,
Long as the shepherd`s bleating flock shall stray
O`er naked Snowdon`s wide aerial waste;
Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill!
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