Wordsworth's Grave
George Gilfallan
Return to memory that lovely night,
Some few years sped, when first I saw the tomb
Of the great poet of simplicity;
Soft fell the twilight of November eve,
Early November, ere the leaves had fallen
Upon the silence of sweet Grasmere Lake;
Each wave, each pebble, and each mountain high,
Was emulously still, and not one sound
Contended with the holy silence save
Thy voice, thou constant mourner o'er the dead,
Rothay, blue darling of the poet's eye!
A yew sepulchral bending o'er his dust;
Long grass unstirred by any breath of breeze.
Yet laden with a soft and soundless awe,—
There slept the poet-king of Cumberland,
And of all simple scenes and hearts on earth;
And at his feet a little grave proclaimed
How a poor wayward one had stolen near,
Even as a truant child has often crept
In darkness and in silence to the feet
Of an old sleeping sire, and nestled there.
The great lakes poet, William Wordsworth, is buried in the graveyard of St Oswald's church in Grasmere. Also buried in the churchyard there are Mary his wife, Dorothy his sister and his children.
