Come, Sleep! but mind ye! if you come without The little girl that struck me at the rout, By Jove! I would not give you half-a-crown For all your poppy-heads and all your down.
Avon! why runnest thou away so fast? Rest thee before that Chancel where repose The bones of him whose spirit moves the world. I have beheld thy birthplace, I have seen Thy tiny ripples where they play amid...
Those who have laid the harp aside And turn'd to idler things, From very restlessness have tried The loose and dusty strings. And, catching back some favourite strain, Run with it o'er the chords again....
Very true, the linnets sing Sweetest in the leaves of spring: You have found in all these leaves That which changes and deceives, And, to pine by sun or star, Left them, false ones as they are....