18 AUGUST 1888, Page 17

POETRY.

WORDSWORTH.

I DREAMED I was a poet once ; but all Nature's most mighty spells of sound and sight

Fell on my heart like softest notes that fall, And, dying, only wake a dumb delight ;

And now the charm of all that's dear and bright— The "glory of the grass" in sparkling showers,

The breath of springtime in the woodland bowers, The grandeur of a snowy mountain height, The starry splendour of the heavenly powers, The light of sunset on a sleeping sea, The loveliness of bright-eyed mountain flowers, The music of the skylark and the bee, The mirth of children in the summer hours,— I leave to Wordsworth to express for me.

JOSEPH JOHN MURPHY.