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Poem	It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves;--to have a sense Of honour-shaded thought,--an influence As from great nature's fingers, and be twined With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind, As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence A head that bows to her benevolence, Midst pomp of fancied trumpets in the wind. It is what's within us crowned. And kind and great Are all the conquering wishes it inspires, Love of things lasting, love of the tall woods, Love of love's self, and ardour for a state Of natural good befitting such desires, Towns without gain, and hunted solitudes.
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