TO THE POET, JOHN DYER

By William Wordsworth

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, withocean's murmur lull'd;

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!