Two voices are there: one is of the deep; <br /> It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody, <br /> Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea, <br /> Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep: <br /> And one is of an old half-witted sheep <br /> Which bleats articulate monotony, <br /> And indicates that two and one are three, <br /> That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep: <br /> And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times <br /> Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes, <br /> The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst: <br /> At other times -- good Lord! I'd rather be <br /> Quite unacquainted with the A.B.C. <br /> Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.<br /><br />James Kenneth Stephen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-sonnet-3/
