In the Yew-tree shade, the poet’s mood, Of sylvan arbours and of graceful brooks, Awaking a change of spirit, was the food, That Brahma smiled upon when time had cooks.

Where day and drop and swirl do gather near, The spirits of all tribes I can feel, To upraise an ultimatum, neither clear, For those whose faith and courage makes the deal.

Of hates and love, the wonder of the land, Was brought into this world at Lordly ends; Today we play in peace upon her strand, And spell the fates when nature but contends.

• William Wordsworth