Wordsworth also had a go at the Grecian Urn:
I found an urn, still undefiled,
A sort of spotless earthen bride;
How charmingly the thing was styled -
’Twas rather tall, but not so wide.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those
That make no sound remain unheard.
This youth who strikes a singer’s pose
Is silent as a plaster bird.
And all those painted gods and men,
Though they appear to rush and scurry,
Being but works of brush and pen
Are going nowhere in a hurry.
This urn recalls the Poet’s duty
To speak the Truth, or do his best;
There’s something else, concerning Beauty,
But I have quite forgot the rest.
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