O what harper could worthily harp it,
Mine Edward! this wide-stretching wold
(Look out wold) with its wonderful carpet
Of emerald, purple, and gold!
Look well at it—also look sharp, it
Is getting so cold.

The purple is heather (erica);
The yellow, gorse—call’d sometimes “whin.”
Cruel boys on its prickles might spike a
Green beetle as if on a pin.
You may roll in it, if you would like a
Few holes in your skin.

You wouldn’t? Then think of how kind you
Should be to the insects who crave
Your compassion—and then, look behind you
At you barley-ears! Don’t they look brave
As they undulate—(undulate, mind you,
From unda, a wave).

The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it
Sounds here—(on account of our height)!
And this hillock itself—who could paint it,
With its changes of shadow and light?
Is it not—(never, Eddy, say “ain’t it”)—
A marvellous sight?

Then yon desolate eerie morasses,
The haunts of the snipe and the hern—
(I shall question the two upper classes
On aquatiles, when we return)—
Why, I see on them absolute masses
Of filix or fern.

How it interests e’en a beginner
(Or tiro) like dear little Ned!
Is he listening? As I am a sinner
He’s asleep—he is wagging his head.
Wake up! I’ll go home to my dinner,
And you to your bed.

The boundless ineffable prairie;
The splendour of mountain and lake
With their hues that seem ever to vary;
The mighty pine-forests which shake
In the wind, and in which the unwary
May tread on a snake;

And this wold with its heathery garment—
Are themes undeniably great.
But—although there is not any harm in’t—
It’s perhaps little good to dilate
On their charms to a dull little varmint
Of seven or eight.