Wordsworth, I have

heard your sacred call,

lyrical, across the sweeping

beauteous fields of time,

from the places that

you lived in and loved

fair well, till this day

that you have never see

—and I’m glad you have not—

for these places are ney

the same as you knew them,

and this earth is not as it was:

it is possessed too much of man,

taken captive by his avarice,

and filled with dross too full

to bear for one romantic such 

as you who loved the earth too 

well to see its fall from Grace

—you, on whom nature made a mark,

could not bear to see the mark that

we have made on it since then.

 

For William Wordsworth

 

17/6/2019