Wordsworth Poem by William Bell Scott

Wordsworth



Earth! through whom we come and go,
Mother of Prometheus! fair.
Thy temples rose in warmer air,
Thou many-breasted, ever young,
To sounding cymbals wast thou sung
Two thousand years ago;
Yet here again
The wisest man of many men,
The truest bard of latest days
Has made his life thy hymn of praise.

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