AUSTRALIA | Monday, 10 June 2013 | Views [266] | Comments [1]
Yet are thy softer arts with power indued To soothe and cheer the poor man's solitude. By silent cottage-doors, the peasant's home Left vacant for the day, I loved to roam. But once I pierced the mazes of a wood In which a cabin undeserted stood; There an old man an olden measure scanned On a rude viol touched with withered hand. As lambs or fawns in April clustering lie Under a hoary oak's thin canopy, Stretched at his feet, with stedfast upward eye, His children's children listened to the sound; —A Hermit with his family around!
William Wordsworth Jul 26, 2013 7:54 AM
