Father, and Bard revered! to whom I owe, Whate'er it be, my little art of numbers, Thou, in thy night-watch o'er my cradled slumbers, Didst meditate the verse that lives to show, (And long shall live, when we alike are low) Thy prayer how ardent, and thy hope how strong, That I should learn of Nature's self the song, The lore which none but Nature's pupils know. The prayer was heard: I "wander'd like a breeze," By mountain brooks and solitary meres, And gathered there the shapes and phantasies Which, mixed with passions of my sadder years, Compose this book. If good therein there be, That good, my sire, I dedicate to thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: OF THREE GIRLS AND OF THEIR TALK by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO THE GUARDIAN ANGEL (A PICTURE AT FANO) by ROBERT BROWNING THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK by ROBERT HERRICK THE PESSIMIST by BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KING |