Inspiration Fails

I wondered what to set to verse,
I pondered hard and long:
No muse came from the Pierian Spring
To grace my voice with song-
Only the sound of water lapping, and the warbler’s song.

I met no queen with swarthy cheeks
Brow- bound with burning gold,
Or aged shepherd sorrowing
Beside his rough-hewn fold-
All that I saw across the water were the hills unrolled.

I saw no stately pleasure dome,
No Abyssinian maid,
No host of golden daffodils
Beneath the trees arrayed-
Only the slender reeds-a -quiver, and the wooded glade.

No warrior bold in armour clad
To Father Tibur leapt:
No maid from out her moated grange
Her weary vigil kept-
None did I see: alone I waited where the willow wept.

(By Geoff Patrick)