| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 298. With Wordsworth at Rydal |
| | | By James Thomas Fields |
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| THE GRASS hung wet on Rydal banks, | |
| The golden day with pearls adorning, | |
| When side by side with him we walked | |
| To meet midway the summer morning. | |
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| The west wind took a softer breath, | 5 |
| The sun himself seemed brighter shining, | |
| As through the porch the minstrel stepped, | |
| His eye sweet Nature’s look enshrining. | |
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| He passed along the dewy sward, | |
| The linnet sang aloft, “Good morrow!” | 10 |
| He plucked a bud, the flower awoke | |
| And smiled without one pang of sorrow. | |
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| He spoke of all that graced the scene | |
| In tones that fell like music round us; | |
| We felt the charm descend, nor strove | 15 |
| To break the rapturous spell that bound us. | |
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| We listened with mysterious awe, | |
| Strange feeling mingling with our pleasure; | |
| We heard that day prophetic words,— | |
| High thoughts the heart must always treasure. | 20 |
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| Great Nature’s Priest! thy calm career, | |
| Since that sweet morn, on earth has ended; | |
| But who shall say thy mission died | |
| When, winged for heaven, thy soul ascended? | |
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