The poem
Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform, With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine, Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine, And many a crag full-faced against the storm, The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm Those lawns that reveled with her dance divine Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.
Nor less, high-stationed on the gray grave heights, High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights Hold converse; and the herd of meaner things Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed, Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.