The Uses of Poetry

I've fond anticipation of a day O'erfilled with pure diversion presently, For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy bay,

Hid deep in rushes, where at random play The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee Hush-throated nestlings in alarm, Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.

For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring To rural peace from our meek onward trend, What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string

And close the door of sense; then satiate wend, On poesy's transforming giant wing, To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.