Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/232

180 Sometimes a dropping from the sky

I heard the Sky-lark sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air

With their sweet jargoning.

And now 'twas like all instruments,

Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on

A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.