GRASMERE CHURCH
In the churchyard are the graves of Wordsworth, his wife, son, daughter, and two children who died in infancy, as well as of his sister Dorothy.
The old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here;
Beneath its shadow high-born Rotha flows;
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near,
And with cool murmur lulling his repose.
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near.
His hills, his lakes, his streams are with him yet.
Surely the heart that reads her own heart clear
Nature forgets not soon: 'tis we forget.
Wordsworth's Grave,
WILLIAM WATSON.
Keep fresh the grass upon his grave,
O Rotha, with thy living wave,
Sing him thy best! for few or none
Hear thy voice right, now he is gone.
Memorial Verses,
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
