Each blossoming hedge-row with an earldom fraught,
Wide duchies bound in every golden sheaf—
Thine the unchallenged tenure of the whole,
By right divine of unstained poet-soul!
III.
Still hearkening ever to that low heart-beat
Of sorrowing earth, whose flowers fade in death,
Whose silver-threaded rills grow faint for breath,
Whose wounded birds cry out beneath thy feet.
Not deaf thy human ear to any plaint