Page:Ambarvalia - Clough (1849).djvu/118

 'Tis more than Fancy weeps the cost Of such a type to Nature lost.

There are conversions of the eye; Tumultuary accesses, Obtained ere passion can deny Into the soul's recesses, May make a flower of this pure sense, A teacher above recompense.

And what for childhood's opening heart, Perceptions ever growing, What might not such a fount impart, Perpetually flowing, Besprinkling field and rock and lane With wisdom of this English strain?

O gay Italian land, to me In all thy wondrous glory Is something still I fain would see, More staid, less transitory, A charm my heart has often found Couched in the Daisy's simple round.