That should you close your eyes, you might almost Forget it was not day! A most gentle maid Who dwelleth in her hospitable home Hard by the Castle, and at latest eve, (Even like a Lady vow'd and dedicate To something more than nature in the grove) On blosmy twig still swinging from the breeze, And to that motion tune his wanton song, Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve, And now for our dear homes.-That strain again! Mars all things with his imitative lisp, How he would place his hand beside his ear, And bid us listen! And I deem it wise To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream) And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, LINES Written when sailing in a Boat At EVENING. How rich the wave, in front, imprest And see how dark the backward stream! A little moment past, so smiling! And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam, Some other loiterer beguiling. |