TO THE SUPREME BEING.  
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed 
If Thou the spirit give by which I pray: 
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
Which of its native self can nothing feed: 
Of good and pious works thou art the seed, 
Which quickens only where thou say'st it may: 
Unless thou shew to us thine own true way 
No man can find it: Father! thou must lead. 
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind 
By which such virtue may in me be bred 
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; 
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, 
That I may have the power to sing of thee, 
And sound thy praises everlastingly.


William Wordsworth

Wow, I've just happened across a couple of Wordsworth's poems lately.

Usually I give up on poetry after the first few lines--I lose patience with it.

Sometimes I think it's purposely (and needlessly) made obscure.

Can't think of a good reason to do that, but I don't know much about poetry.