Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/49

Rh And beat the passive water with their wings.

Too distant are they for plain view, but lo!

Those little fountains, sparkling in the sun,

Betray their occupation, rising up

First one and then another silver spout,

As one or other takes the fit of glee,

Fountains and spouts, yet somewhat in the guise

Of plaything fireworks, that on festal nights

Sparkle about the feet of wanton boys.

—How vast the compass of this theatre,

Yet nothing to be seen but lovely pomp

And silent majesty; the birch-tree woods

Are hung with thousand thousand diamond drops

Of melted hoar-frost, every tiny knot

In the bare twigs, each little budding-place

Cased with its several beads; what myriads these