A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found,
Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play,
On "coignes of vantage" hang their nests of clay;
How quickly from that aery hold unbound,
Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground
Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye;
Convinced that there, there only, she can lay
Secure foundations. As the year runs round,
Apart she toils within the chosen ring;
While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye
Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;
Where even the motion of an Angel's wing
Would interrupt the intense tranquility
Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.
A Volant Tribe Of Bards On Earth Are Found
William Wordsworth
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Poem topics: angel, nature, purple, sky, spring, wing, oblivion, earth, play, mind, year, hold, dust, shine, chosen, gently, secure, Valentine's Day, intense, silent, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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