A Poet's Inspiration Poem by james watkin

IIs that my lyre? I seem to hear
Yon hill-crest, warbler-sped
Where bracken rusts its autumn-telling;
Plucked wildly through the gloom.
Had it been left there when, for love
Bewailment was threaded?
Its having a wooing life yet
Were it mine to assume!

How's to be found, I shant be made
Weaker, under this cloud
In having cry-spells for it - even
Melancholic zest!
In rill music is my Wordsworth's
Shade of trekking endowed
While stands its ivory-cast fame
Over my age-long quest.