William Wordsworth

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.

The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.

Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

But shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a read more

And when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas! too few.