Its a long time since I read any poetry. Yesterday I got some old books down from the shelves. I've been thumbing through Keats, Coleridge, Byron and Shelley.  These poets are not easy to read because of the classical references and the political and cultural contexts, but if I give them time there will be rich rewards.  There were some lines I came across in a poem by Shelley that I wanted to put on my blog maybe as a 'poetry quote of the week' quote, but today I lost the page it was on. While I was searching I came across a simpler poem, a sort of hymn to nature.

Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,

  Thou from whose immortal bosom

Gods, and men and beasts have birth,

 Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,

Breathe thine influence most divine

On thine own child, Proserpine.

If with mists of evening dew

  Thou dost nourish these young flowers

Til they grow in scent and hue,

Fairest children of the hours,

Breathe thy influence most divine

On thine own child, Proserpine.