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Thomas Hood - False Poets And True (To Wordsworth)
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Look how the lark soars upward and is gone, 
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky! 
His voice is heard, but body there is none 
To fix the vague excursions of the eye. 
So, poets` songs are with us, tho` they die 
Obscured, and hid by death`s oblivious shroud, 
And Earth inherits the rich melody 
Like raining music from the morning cloud. 
Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud 
Their voices reach us through the lapse of space: 
The noisy day is deafen`d by a crowd 
Of undistinguished birds, a twittering race; 
But only lark and nightingale forlorn 
Fill up the silences of night and morn.
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