ADIEU, RYDALIAN LAURELS! THAT HAVE GROWN

By William Wordsworth

Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown

And spread as if ye knew that days might come

When ye would shelter in a happy home,

On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own,

One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown

To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade

All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid

Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown.

Farewell! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung

For summer wandering quit their household bowers;

Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue

To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours

Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors,

Or musing sits forsaken halls among.