I DREAM'D that, as I wander'd by the way, Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, II There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxslips; tender bluebells, at whose birth Its mother's face with Heaven's collected tears, Arcturi] northern stars. that tall flower] the 'Crown Imperial' (?). III And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-colour'd may, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew, yet drain'd not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold, Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold. IV And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with white, And starry river-buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As scothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. V Methought that of these visionary flowers eglantine] sweet-briar. Shelley. cowbind] Bryony. II2 To Helen HELEN, thy beauty is to me yore Like those Nicéan barks of On desperate seas long wont to roam, Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche 113 THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : And the midnight moon is weaving Poe. 114 So the spirit bows before thee, With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. The Solitary Reaper BEHOLD her, single in the field, No Nightingale did ever chaunt A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard Will no one tell me what she sings ?— For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Byron. 115 Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang Wordsworth, 1804. Ferry Hinksey BEYOND the ferry water That fast and silent flow'd, She turn'd, she gazed a moment, Between the winding willows Blue shade of golden branches Laurence Binyon. 116 The Wayfarer KEEN, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there I |