Beneath the yew by Rothay’s freeborn stream
    Filled with your music, crystal as your heart,
    To-day from all the world I go apart;
A hundred years roll backward as in dream,
All of yourself that doth immortal seem
    Comes from the grave to hear a patriot’s part,
    Your pealing clarion tuned by sonnet art
Sounds, and your brave song-banners forward

Wordsworth! an empire needs you at this hour,
    For now a second tyrant stands confest,
        A ruthless wide-world dominating foe;
    Oh! turn not, mighty spirit, to your rest,
        But bid us forth as happy warriors go
With freedom’s unimaginable power.

(The European War 1914-1915 Poems, p. 219)