Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect |
For ever piping songs for ever new. |
For sure so fair a place was never seen; Of all that ever charmed romantic eye. |
Four seasons fill the measure of the year; / There are four seasons in the mind of man. |
Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. |
Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish: and go to the fair in the evening if I'm good. There is not hope for that --one is sure to get into some mess before evening. |
God of the golden bow, / And of the golden lyre, / And of the golden hair, / And of the golden fire, / Charioteer / Of the patient year, / Where - where slept thine ire? |
Good-night to the Season! - Another Will come, with its trifles and toys, And hurry away, like its brother, In sunshine, and odor, and noise |
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; / Enough their simple loveliness for me. |
He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead. |
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute,/ In Provence called `La belle dame sans merci'. |
Health is my expected heaven. |
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard / Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; / Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, / Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. |
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter. |
Here are sweet-peas, on tip-toe for a flight:/ With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,/ And taper fingers catching at all things, / To bind them all about with tiny rings. |