Fame tells of groves, from England far away,
Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill
And modulate, with subtle reach of skill
Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay;
Such bold report I venture to gainsay:
For I have heard the quire of Richmond hill
Chanting, with indefatigable bill,
Strains that recalled to mind a distant day;
When, haply under shade of that same wood,
And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars
Plied steadily between those willowy shores,
The sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood
Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood,
Ye heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors.
June 1820
William Wordsworth
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Poem topics: away, sweet, venture, shade, long, bold, mind, mood, reach, poet, Valentine's Day, conscious, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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