THE GRASS hung wet on Rydal banks, <br />The golden day with pearls adorning, <br />When side by side with him we walked <br />To meet midway the summer morning. <br /> <br />The west wind took a softer breath, <br />The sun himself seemed brighter shining, <br />As through the porch the minstrel stepped, <br />His eye sweet Nature’s look enshrining. <br /> <br />He passed along the dewy sward, <br />The linnet sang aloft, “Good morrow!” <br />He plucked a bud, the flower awoke <br />And smiled without one pang of sorrow. <br /> <br />He spoke of all that graced the scene <br />In tones that fell like music round us; <br />We felt the charm descend, nor strove <br />To break the rapturous spell that bound us. <br /> <br />We listened with mysterious awe, <br />Strange feeling mingling with our pleasure; <br />We heard that day prophetic words,— <br />High thoughts the heart must always treasure. <br /> <br />Great Nature’s Priest! thy calm career, <br />Since that sweet morn, on earth has ended; <br />But who shall say thy mission died <br />When, winged for heaven, thy soul ascended?<br /><br />James Thomas Fields<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/with-wordsworth-at-rydal/
