IF Nature, for a favourite child, <br />In thee hath tempered so her clay, <br />That every hour thy heart runs wild, <br />Yet never once doth go astray, <br /> <br />Read o'er these lines; and then review <br />This tablet, that thus humbly rears <br />In such diversity of hue <br />Its history of two hundred years. <br /> <br />--When through this little wreck of fame, <br />Cipher and syllable! thine eye <br />Has travelled down to Matthew's name, <br />Pause with no common sympathy. <br /> <br />And, if a sleeping tear should wake, <br />Then be it neither checked nor stayed: <br />For Matthew a request I make <br />Which for himself he had not made. <br /> <br />Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, <br />Is silent as a standing pool; <br />Far from the chimney's merry roar, <br />And murmur of the village school. <br /> <br />The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs <br />Of one tired out with fun and madness; <br />The tears which came to Matthew's eyes <br />Were tears of light, the dew of gladness. <br /> <br />Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup <br />Of still and serious thought went round, <br />It seemed as if he drank it up-- <br />He felt with spirit so profound. <br /> <br />--Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! <br />Thou happy Soul! and can it be <br />That these two words of glittering gold <br />Are all that must remain of thee?<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/matthew/
