Daily Sip - Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, into which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

-William Wordsworth

This is a nice one Sibby, where did you find it?
I love "Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, sit blithe and happy; bees that soar in bloom," Alliteration, assonance... sigh Wordsworth.

Where I find most of my poems... on the interwebs! Just kind of stumbled onto it.

I love me some sweet, sweet assonance.