What sympathy have they with birds
Whose songs are songs of mine?
Do they e’er hear, as though in words
’Twas lisped, the message of the herds
Of grazing, lowing kine?
Ah no! Give me no lofty throne,
But just what Nature yields.
Let me but wander on, alone
If need be, so that all my own
Are woods and dales and fields.