(Hampstead Heath)
Around these sweet mays and willows
And in and out of these yellow hollows,
You who followed the heart’s affections
And smelled the warm
Nights in the cold of evil,
You, Keats, you intricate Coleridge,
Sarcastic Constable, and Palmer
Loving and knowing
The eyes and buds of the world,
In your green proscenium of eternity,
O gentle, resolved and holy men, who
In this cut and lovely heath knew
The involved image of man,
You earn our invocation; touch
Us, since we too blunder in these gorse
Paths, in desolation.
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