Imatges de pÓgina

The frog, with reckoning leap, enjoys apart,

Till now and then the woodcock frights his heart

With brushing down to dip his dainty bill.
Close by, from bank to bank,

A little bridge there is, a one-railed plank;
And all is woody, mossy, and watery.

Sometimes a poet from that bridge might see

A Nymph reach downwards, holding by a bough With tresses o'er her brow,

And with her white back stoop

The pushing stream to scoop

In a green gourd cup, shining sunnily.



As I stood thus, a neighbouring wood of elms
Was moved, and stirred and whispered loftily,
Much like a pomp of warriors with plumed helms,
When some great general whom they long to see
Is heard behind them, coming in swift dignity;
And then there fled by me a rush of air
That stirred up all the other foliage there,

Filling the solitude with panting tongues;
into their songs,

At which the pines woke up

Shaking their choral locks; and on the place

There fell a shade as on an awe-struck face;

And overhead, like a portentous rim

Pulled over the wide world, to make all dim,

A grave gigantic cloud came hugely uplifting him.

It passed with it's slow shadow; and I saw
Where it went down beyond me on a plain,
Sloping it's dusky ladders of thick rain;
And on the mist it made, and blinding awe,
The sun, re-issuing in the opposite sky,

Struck the all-coloured arch of his great eye,
And the disburthened country laughed again:
The leaves were amber; the sunshine

Scored on the ground it's conquering line;

And the quick birds, for scorn of the great cloud,

Like children after fear, were merry and loud.


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