EV Pleasure never is at home; At a touch sweet pleasure melteth Like to bubble, when rain pelteth. Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her. Open wide the mind's cage door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose, Cloys with tasting: what do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon : To banish Even from her sky. Fancy, high-commissioned;-send her! Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it; thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear; Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn ; And, in the same moment, hark! FANCY. 'Tis the early April lark, Thou shalt, at one glance behold, Sapphire queen of the mid-May; And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self-same shower. When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down-pattering, While the Autumn breezes sing. 11 Arcadian Hymn to Flora. R. H. Stoddard. COME, all ye virgins fair in kirtles white, Ye debonair and merry-hearted maids, Who have been out in troops before the light, Are glowing in the sky like kindling coals, The clouds are golden rimmed like burning scrolls, Brimming with morning dew are laid thereby, To music soft and sweet, And celebrate the joyous break of day, And sing a hymn to Flora, Queen of May. |