Our grandsire poets often prayed
All the nine muses for their aid!
But I, who only wander round
Familiar ground,
By pleasant autumn hedges bound,—
Sure I can pray
For inspiration much more near;
My audience dear,
Assist me to a theme to-day!

You cannot help me? but I see
I have a readier prompter here,
The child is whispering in my ear,
‘Write a pretty thing of me!’
I will, you egotistic gnome,
The best is often nearest home.