There once was a shepherd, Michael was his name,
On the heights so lived he, till his eightieth year,
He had learned of the meaning of all winds,
Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear.
Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
Intense and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And watchful more than ordinary men
His neighbours, when he passed, blessed him with prayers.
The common air; hills, he had so often climbed,
With two brave sheep dogs tried in many a storm,
The pleasure which is there is in life itself,
Which like a book, preserves the memory of form.
And westward to the village near the lake
He dwelt at constant beck of wind and rain
An old man, stout of heart and strong of limb,
Life of sole purpose, the certainty of honourable gain.
(From Wordsworths ‘Michael’)
Interesting idea! You've shortened them -- added some words of your own? "Michael" reminds of "Heidi's" grandfather.
ReplyDeleteSince there is no question of copyright, the worst we can do is to revive a little interest in William, if only for ourselves. There must be a mountain of interesting, but mainly discarded material out there. Lets see how it shapes up and thanks for the comment. p+p.
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