To the 17. Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove I gave this paradise for winter hours, A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove. And all the mighty ravishment of Spring. 18. The world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! - A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant léa, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 19. It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 20. TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT. Calvert! it must not be unheard by them This care was thine when sickness did condemn My temples with the Muse's diadem. Hence, if in freedom I have lov❜d the truth, END OF THE FIRST PART. |