To Wordsworth
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to knowThat things depart which never may return:Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow,Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.These common woes I feel. One loss is mineWhich thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shineOn some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stoodAbove the blind and battling multitude:In honoured poverty thy voice did weaveSongs consecrate to truth and liberty,--Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.
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