'Tis fancies now must charm us; Nor is the bliss ideal, For all we feel, In woe or weal, Is, while we feel it, real: Heaven's nooks they are for getting in, When weeping weather's setting in. And now and now I see them, The poet comes upon me, My back it springs With a sense of wings, And my laurel crown is on me; The room begins to rise with me, And all your sparkling eyes with me. Far, far away we're going From care and common-places, To spots of bliss As fine to this, As your's to common faces; To spots-but rapture dissipates The pictures it anticipates. And hey, what's this? the walls, look, Are wrinkling as a skin does; And now they are bent To a silken tent, And there are chrystal windows; And look! there's a balloon above, Round and bright as the moon above. Now we loosen-now-take care; What a spring from earth was there! Like an angel mounting fierce, We have shot the night with a pierce; And the moon, with slant-up beam, Lovers below will stare at the sight, What a lovely motion now, Over land and sea we go, Over tops of mountains, Through the blue and the golden glow, And the rain's white fountains. What a pleasure 'tis to be Sailing onward smilingly; Not an effort, not a will, Yet proceeding swiftly still! 'Tis to join in one sensation Business both and contemplation; Active, without toil or stress; Passive, without listlessness. Now we pierce the chilly shroud And could almost crowd together, With a swift-eyed scorning; And with gently stooping flight Slide us down the sunbeams bright, And travel towards the morning. THOUGHTS OF THE AVON, It is the loveliest day that we have had The banks of Avon must look well to day; Autumn is there in all his glory and treasure; |