Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/324

264 And many a fond and idle name

I give to thee, for praise or blame,

As is the humour of the game,

While I am gazing.

A Nun demure, of lowly port;

Or sprightly Maiden, of Love's Court,

In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations;

A Queen in crown of rubies drest;

A Starveling in a scanty vest;

Are all, as seem to suit thee best,

Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops, with one eye

Staring to threaten and defy,

That thought comes next—and instantly

The freak is over,

The shape will vanish, and behold!

A silver Shield with boss of gold,

That spreads itself, some Faery bold

In fight to cover.