Picassa.web.google: Graphic of Lake Country Beauty
Ode |
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| THERE is a time when poet, sage esteem |
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| The lakes, and every natural sight; |
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| To me, still seem |
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| Fresh-filled, with sheer Wordsworthian delight, |
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| The story and the oneness of a dream. | 5 |
| There is not time beside sweet Grasmere’s shore |
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| To contemplate and pray, |
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| At work or play; |
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| The words I've heard, I now can hear no more. |
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| His presence, lakeside, walking, comes and goes, | 10 |
| And youthful, handsome is his pose; |
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| The tourists' sights |
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| Now find their focus, blue of sky and fair; |
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| For 'Wordsworth' spoken on a reading night, |
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| Does bring echoic words and does declare | 15 |
| His poems, blithe, bring birth |
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| To Nature’s care, |
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| Yet there have gone his wonders from our earth. |
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| Now, if we join to sing his rustic song, |
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| And tread these fields of grassy mound | 20 |
| With birdsong sound, |
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| To me, indeed, there comes a fear, a grief: |
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| No timely words now flow to bring relief, |
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| Although bright pilgrims,shutters clicking, throng |
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| His churchyard grave motif | 2 |
| His purpose wrong; |
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| Nor hear sweet notes on fels; through trees in leaf.
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| His verses float to me from vales of sleep |
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| For all this earth in Heav'nly tune. |
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| This lake, this tree | 30 |
| Still gleam for us, like him, so joyously. |
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| Therefore, with dancing, sprightly feet of June, |
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| I see his ghost, by lakes, walk ponderingly: |
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| “Poet, Child of Joy, |
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| Let's hear your glee, | 35 |
| Shout for your happy state when once a boy!” |
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Honorable winner
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