Classic Poem

Cowper the Poet of the field
Who found the muse on common ground
The homesteads that each Cottage shields
He loved and made them Classic ground.

The lonely house the rural walk
He sang so musically true
E'en now they share the peoples talk
Who love the poet Cowper too.

Who has not read the ‘Winter storm’
And does not feel the fallen snow
And Woodmen keeping noses warm
With pipes where ever Forests grow.

In France in Germany and Spain
The same delightful pictures show
The Cowpers ‘Woodmens’ seen again
And Lurchers tracking thro the snow

The ‘Winters walk’ and ‘Summers Noon’
We meet together by the fire
And think the ‘walks’ are o'er too soon
When books are read and we retire.

Who travels o'er those sweet fields now
And brings not Cowper to his mind
Birds sing his name on every bough
Nature repeats it in the wind.

And every place the Poet trod
And every place the Poet sung
Are like the holy land of God
In every Mouth on every tongue