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These things are, doubtless : yet in truth we've had the end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clear
Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I
Ah! rather let me like a madman run A thousand willing agents to obey,
Over some precipice; let the hot sun And still she governs with the mildest sway: Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down But strength alone though of the Muses born Convulsed and headlong! Stay! an inward frown Is like a fallen angel : trees uptorn,
Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile. Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs
Spreads awfully before me. How much toil! And thorns of life ; forgetting the great end How many days! what desperate turmoil ! Of poesy, that it should be a friend
Ere I can have explored its widenesses. To soothe the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,
I could unsay those~no, impossible
For sweet relief I'll dwell
On humbler thoughts, and let this strange essay All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen,
Begun in gentleness die so away. Creep through the shade with jaunty futtering, E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades: Nibble the little cupped flowers, and sing. I turn full-hearted to the friendly aids Then let us clear away the choking thorns That smooth the path of honor; brotherhood, From round its gentle stem; let the
And friendliness, the nurse of mutual good. Yeaned in after-times, when we are flown, The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown
Into the brain ere one can think upon it; With simple flowers : let there nothing be
The silence when some rhymes are coming out; More boisterous than a lover's bended knee ; And when they're come, the very pleasant rout. Naught more ungenule than the placid look The message certain to be done tomorrow. Of one who leans upon a closed book;
|"T is perhaps as well that it should be to borrow Naught more untranquil than the grassy slopes Some precious book from out its snug retreat, Between two hills. All hail, delightful hopes ! To cluster round it when we next shall meet. As she was wont, th' imagination
Scarce can I scribble on ; for lovely airs Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone,
Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; And they shall be accounted poet kings
Many delights of that glad day recalling, Who simply tell the most heart-easing things. When first my senses caught their tender falling. O may these joys be ripe before I die!
And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance,
Careless, and grand-fingers soft and round Will not some say that I presumptuously
Parting luxuriant curls ;—and the swift bound Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye "Twere better far to hide my foolish face?
Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.
Things such as these are ever harbingers
To trains of peaceful images : the stirs And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes . And there shall be a kind memorial graven. A linnet starting all about the bushes : But off, Despondence! miserable bane!
A butterfly, with golden wings broad-parted, They should not know thee, who athirst to gain Nestling a rose, convulsed as though it smarted A noble end, are thirsty every hour.
With over-pleasure-many, many more, What though I am not wealthy in the dower Might I indulge at large in all my store Of spanning wisdom ; though I do not know Of luxuries : yet I must not forget The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Sleep, quiet with his poppy coronet : Hither and thither all the changing thoughts For what there may be worthy in these rhymes Of man; though no great minist’ring reason sorts I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimes Out the dark mysteries of human souls
Of friendly voices had just given place To clear conceiving : yet there ever rolls
To as sweet a silence, when I'gan retrace A vast idea before me, and I glean
The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease. Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen It was a poet's house who keeps the keys