A Sonnet (Two Voices Are There)

   Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
    It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
    Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
    Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:
    And one is of an old half-witted sheep
    Which bleats articulate monotony,
    And indicates that two and one are three,
    That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:
    And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times
  Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,
  The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:
  At other times — good Lord! I'd rather be
  Quite unacquainted with the A.B.C.
  Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.