BARD of the Fleece, whose skilful genius made <br />That work a living landscape fair and bright; <br />Nor hallowed less with musical delight <br />Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, <br />Those southern tracts of Cambria, 'deep embayed, <br />With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur lulled;' <br />Though hasty Fame hath many a chaplet culled <br />For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade <br />Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced, <br />Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, <br />A grateful few, shall love thy modest Lay, <br />Long as the shepherd's bleating flock shall stray <br />O'er naked Snowdon's wide aerial waste; <br />Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grongar Hill!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-poet-john-dyer/
