![A Volant Tribe Of Bards On Earth Are Found, By: William Wordsworth](https://i0.wp.com/poetrycatalog.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/A-Volant-Tribe-Of-Bards-On-Earth-Are-Found-By-William-Wordsworth.jpg?resize=750%2C420&ssl=1)
A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found,
Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play,
On “coignes of vantage” hang their nests of clay;
How quickly from that aery hold unbound,
Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground
Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye;
Convinced that there, there only, she can lay
Secure foundations. As the year runs round,
Apart she toils within the chosen ring;
While the stars shine, or while day’s purple eye
Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;
Where even the motion of an Angel’s wing
Would interrupt the intense tranquility
Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.