William Bell Scott Poems

Our grandsire poets often prayed
All the nine muses for their aid!
But I, who only wander round
Familiar ground,
...

The poet has been called of old,
Maker, seeker, finder, singer:
Which of these names, I would be told,
Best describes our best joy bringer.
...

The harmonies the poet knows
Are like the petals of this rose,
Leaf over leaf so pure, so bright,
...

Smoothed by this untiring tide,
The rocks that crop up on this strand
Make pleasant seats, we there abide,
...

Crumbs for the robin; well he knew
The click of that old garden gate,
Among the leaves he somewhere flew,
Nor came to breakfast ever late.
...

That round-cheeked, flat-faced Stratford bust
Sank one's ideal to the dust,
...

Life's half-read book, for we are well aware
We cannot know it to its furthest end:
But still we hope the coming page may mend
...

But what have wars or kings to do
With our quiet country ways,
Or with poetry now-a-days?
The Foxglove by the gate that grew
...

Of all my favourite leaves these three
Appear to me
The wisest in their own degree,—
...

Early astir in this midsummer time
In the Queen's close, sweet hour in this sweet clime,
I stray at will to hear the throstle sing
...