Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/730

 Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embower'd       In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd,       Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingèd thieves

Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers— All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh—thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.