Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen <br />Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained <br />Proportions more harmonious, and approached <br />To closer fellowship with ideal grace. <br />But take it in good part:--alas! the poor <br />Vitruvius of our village had no help <br />From the great City; never, upon leaves <br />Of red Morocco folio, saw displayed, <br />In long succession, pre-existing ghosts <br />Of Beauties yet unborn--the rustic Lodge <br />Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced, <br />Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove, <br />Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage. <br />Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls <br />The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here <br />The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind. <br />And hither does one Poet sometimes row <br />His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled <br />With plenteous store of heath and withered fern, <br />(A lading which he with his sickle cuts, <br />Among the mountains) and beneath this roof <br />He makes his summer couch, and here at noon <br />Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep, <br />Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, <br />Lie round him, even as if they were a part <br />Of his own Household: nor, while from his bed <br />He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake <br />And to the stirring breezes, does he want <br />Creations lovely as the work of sleep-- <br />Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-with-a-pencil-upon-a-stone-in-the-wall-o/
