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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472358" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>After A Lecture On Wordsworth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">COME, spread your wings, as I spread mine,<br>And leave the crowded hall<br>For where the eyes of twilight shine<br>O'er evening's western wall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These are the pleasant Berkshire hills,<br>Each with its leafy crown;<br>Hark! from their sides a thousand rills<br>Come singing sweetly down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thousand rills; they leap and shine,<br>Strained through the shadowy nooks,<br>Till, clasped in many a gathering twine,<br>They swell a hundred brooks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A hundred brooks, and still they run<br>With ripple, shade, and gleam,<br>Till, clustering all their braids in one,<br>They flow a single stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bracelet spun from mountain mist,<br>A silvery sash unwound,<br>With ox-bow curve and sinuous twist<br>It writhes to reach the Sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is my bark,--a pygmy's ship;<br>Beneath a child it rolls;<br>Fear not,--one body makes it dip,<br>But not a thousand souls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Float we the grassy banks between;<br>Without an oar we glide;<br>The meadows, drest in living green,<br>Unroll on either side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, take the book we love so well,<br>And let us read and dream<br>We see whate'er its pages tell,<br>And sail an English stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up to the clouds the lark has sprung,<br>Still trilling as he flies;<br>The linnet sings as there he sung;<br>The unseen cuckoo cries,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And daisies strew the banks along,<br>And yellow kingcups shine,<br>With cowslips, and a primrose throng,<br>And humble celandine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah foolish dream! when Nature nursed<br>Her daughter in the West,<br>The fount was drained that opened first;<br>She bared her other breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the young planet's orient shore<br>Her morning hand she tried;<br>Then turned the broad medallion o'er<br>And stamped the sunset side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Take what she gives, her pine's tall stem,<br>Her elm with hanging spray;<br>She wears her mountain diadem<br>Still in her own proud way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look on the forests' ancient kings,<br>The hemlock's towering pride<br>Yon trunk had thrice a hundred rings,<br>And fell before it died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor think that Nature saves her bloom<br>And slights our grassy plain;<br>For us she wears her court costume,--<br>Look on its broidered train;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lily with the sprinkled dots,<br>Brands of the noontide beam;<br>The cardinal, and the blood-red spots,<br>Its double in the stream,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As if some wounded eagle's breast,<br>Slow throbbing o'er the plain,<br>Had left its airy path impressed<br>In drops of scarlet rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And hark! and hark! the woodland rings;<br>There thrilled the thrush's soul;<br>And look! that flash of flamy wings,--<br>The fire-plumed oriole!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Above, the hen-hawk swims and swoops,<br>Flung from the bright, blue sky;<br>Below, the robin hops, and whoops<br>His piercing, Indian cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beauty runs virgin in the woods<br>Robed in her rustic green,<br>And oft a longing thought intrudes,<br>As if we might have seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her every finger's every joint<br>Ringed with some golden line,<br>Poet whom Nature did anoint<br>Had our wild home been thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet think not so; Old England's blood<br>Runs warm in English veins;<br>But wafted o'er the icy flood<br>Its better life remains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our children know each wildwood smell,<br>The bayberry and the fern,<br>The man who does not know them well<br>Is all too old to learn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be patient! On the breathing page<br>Still pants our hurried past;<br>Pilgrim and soldier, saint and sage,<br>The poet comes the last!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though still the lark-voiced matins ring<br>The world has known so long;<br>The wood-thrush of the West shall sing<br>Earth's last sweet even-song!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472358" data-title="After A Lecture On Wordsworth de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="COME, spread your wings, as I spread mine,
And leave the crowded hall
For where the eyes of twilight shine
O'er evening's western wall.

These are the pleasant Berkshire hills,
Each with its leafy crown;
Hark! from their sides a thousand rills
Com..."></div>
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