Walking with Wordsworth
Have you ever found yourself down a dirt path thinking, gosh, someone must write a poem or song about this place?
This painting is a soft and solitary moment where poetry, birdsong and the beauty of nature have a moment together; a moment I’m so grateful to have been a witness to.
16” x 24” original oil painting on canvas.
Vintage wooden frame.
*Note: this piece is currently on display as a part of Leonardtown, Maryland’s ArtWalk. Shipping/pick up may be delayed.
Have you ever found yourself down a dirt path thinking, gosh, someone must write a poem or song about this place?
This painting is a soft and solitary moment where poetry, birdsong and the beauty of nature have a moment together; a moment I’m so grateful to have been a witness to.
16” x 24” original oil painting on canvas.
Vintage wooden frame.
*Note: this piece is currently on display as a part of Leonardtown, Maryland’s ArtWalk. Shipping/pick up may be delayed.
Have you ever found yourself down a dirt path thinking, gosh, someone must write a poem or song about this place?
This painting is a soft and solitary moment where poetry, birdsong and the beauty of nature have a moment together; a moment I’m so grateful to have been a witness to.
16” x 24” original oil painting on canvas.
Vintage wooden frame.
*Note: this piece is currently on display as a part of Leonardtown, Maryland’s ArtWalk. Shipping/pick up may be delayed.
The World Is Too Much With Us
William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.