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20 Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending; Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.

I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury 25 Had play'd upon my heels: I was lighthearted,

And many pleasures to my vision started;
So I straightway began to pluck a posey
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft, and rosy.

A bush of May flowers with the bees
about them;

30 Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;

35

And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, And let long grass grow round the roots

to keep them

Moist, cool, and green; and shade the violets,

That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

A filbert hedge with wild briar overtwined,

And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind

Upon their summer thrones; there too

should be

The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of light green brethren shoots

40 From the quaint mossiness of aged roots;

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If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;

80 But turn your eye, and they are there 120 again.

The ripples seem right glad to reach those

cresses,

And cool themselves among the em'rald

tresses;

The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,

And moisture, that the bowery green may live:

85 So keeping up an interchange of favors, Like good men in the truth of their be

haviors.

Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low-hung branches; little space they stop;

125

130

But sip, and twitter, and their feathers 135 sleek;

90 Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden
wings,

Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
Were I in such a place, I sure should pray
That naught less sweet, might call my

thoughts away,

95 Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down; Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes. How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught

100 Playing in all her innocence of thought. O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;

O let me for one moment touch her wrist; Let me one moment to her breathing list; 105 And as she leaves me may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks aubùrne.

What next? A tuft of evening prim

roses,

O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;

Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling
streams,

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upeast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature's light?
In the calm grandeur of a sober line,
We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid,
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade:
When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings:
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,
And flowering laurels spring from dia-
mond vases;

O'er head we see the jasmine and sweet
briar,

And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire;

While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles

Charms us at once away from all our troubles:

So that we feel uplifted from the world, 140 Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and curl'd.

So felt he who first told how Psyche went
On the smooth wind to realms of wonder-

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The poet wept at her so piteous fate,
Wept that such beauty should be desolate:
So in fine wrath some golden sounds he
won,

And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.

Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen

Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!

As thou exceedest all things in thy shine, So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine. O for three words of honey, that I might Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!

Where distant ships do seem to show their keels,

Phoebus awhile delay'd his mighty wheels,
And turn'd to smile upon thy bashful eyes,
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.
The evening weather was so bright, and
clear,

That men of health were of unusual cheer;
Stepping like Homer at the trumpet 's call,
Or young Apollo on the pedestal:1
And lovely women were as fair and warm
As Venus looking sideways in alarm.2
The breezes were ethereal, and pure,
And crept through half-closed lattices to

cure

The languid sick; it cool'd their fever'd

sleep,

And soothed them into slumbers full and

deep.

225 Soon they awoke clear-eyed: nor burnt with thirsting,

Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:

And springing up, they met the wond'ring sight

Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;

Who feel their arms and breasts, and kiss and stare,

230 And on their placid foreheads part the hair.

Young men and maidens at each other

gaz'd

With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd

To see the brightness in each other's eyes;

1 Probably the statue Apollo Belvedere. 2 Probably the statue Venus de Medici.

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What is more gentle than a wind in summer?

What is more soothing than the pretty hummer

That stays one moment in an open flower,

It has a glory, and naught else can share it:

25 The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,

Chasing away all worldliness and folly; Coming sometimes like fearful elaps of thunder,

Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;

And sometimes like a gentle whispering 30 Of all the secrets of some wond 'rous thing That breathes about us in the vacant air; So that we look around with prying stare, Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial limning,1

And catch soft floatings from a faintheard hymning;

35 To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended, That is to crown our name when life is ended.

Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,
And from the heart up-springs, rejoice!

rejoice!

Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,

And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower? 40 And die away in ardent mutterings.

5 What is more tranquil than a musk-rose

blowing

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1 verses 2 immeasurable knew not

4 was no earthly person

heart's ease had not

No one who once the glorious sun has

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Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air, Smooth'd for intoxication by the breath Of flowering bays,2 that I may die a death Of luxury, and my young spirit follow 60 The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair

Visions of all places: a bowery nook
Will be Elysium-an eternal book

The Floure and the Lefe, 17-21. This poem for 65 Whence I may copy many a lovely saying

a long time was accredited to Chaucer. Its

authorship is unknown.

1 painting

2 A kind of laurel tree.

About the leaves, and flowers-about the 110 playing

Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and
the shade

Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;
And many a verse from so strange influ-

ence

70 That we must ever wonder how, and whence It came. Also imaginings will hover Round my fire-side, and haply there dis

cover

Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander In happy silence, like the clear Meander 75 Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot

Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot, Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd

dress

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120

Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness, 125 Write on my tablets all that was permitted, 80 All that was for our human senses fitted. Then the events of this wide world I'd seize Like a strong giant, and my spirit teaze Till at its shoulders it should proudly see Wings to find out an immortality.

85

Stop and consider! life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's
sleep

While his boat hastens to the monstrous
steep

Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan? 90 Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; The reading of an ever-changing tale; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil; A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air; A laughing school-boy, without grief or care,

95 Riding the springy branches of an elm.

O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in Poesy; so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed. Then will I pass the countries that I see 100 In long perspective, and continually

Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass

A lovely tale of human life we'll read.
And one will teach a tame dove how it best
May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest;
Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,
Will set a green robe floating round her
head,

And still will dance with ever varied ease,
Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:
Another will entice me on, and on
Through almond blossoms and rich cinna-
mon;

Till in the bosom of a leafy world
We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd
In the recesses of a pearly shell.

And can I ever bid these joys farewell?
Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,
Where I may find the agonies, the strife
Of human hearts: for lo! I see afar,
O'ersailing the blue cragginess, a car
And steeds with streamy manes-the
charioteer

Looks out upon the winds with glorious
fear:

And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly

130 Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly

Wheel downward come they into fresher

skies,

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Of Flora and old Pan: sleep in the grass,
Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,
And choose each pleasure that my fancy 145

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Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep. Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep:

Some with upholden hand and mouth

severe;

Some with their faces muffled to the ear Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom,

Go glad and smilingly athwart the gloom; Some looking back, and some with upward

gaze;

Yes, thousands in a thousand different

ways

Flit onward-now a lovely wreath of girls 150 Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;

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