In the heart of verdant glades, a whisper stirs,
Wordsworthâs voice in softest hues unfurls,
Nature’s canvas, painted in serene swirls,
A testament to the calm that nature confers.
Beneath the azure skies, where wildflowers bloom,
In fields of gold, where shadows gently loom,
Each petal, each leaf, a delicate plume,
Echoes of tranquility in nature’s grand room.
Rivers meander through the silent woods,
Carving tales of peace in ancient moods,
The symphony of rustling leaves and broods,
A melody of life in serene interludes.
Mountains stand tall, guardians of the scene,
Their majesty, a sight so pure and clean,
In Wordsworth’s nature, a world serene,
A sanctuary where the soul feels seen.