Poem by William Wordsworth

Sonnet Composed During a Storm

THE WIND is now thy organist; a clank
(We know not whence) ministers for a bell
To mark some change of service. As the swell
Of music reached its height, and even when sank
The notes, in prelude, Roslin! to a blank
Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof,
Pillars, and arches,—not in vain time-proof,
Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank
Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown,
Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown?
Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche
Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown
Copy their beauty more and more, and preach,
Though mute, of all things blending into one.

1. To the Sons of Burns
2. Monument of Mrs. Howard
3. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm
4. Roman Antiquities
5. Remembrance of Collins

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