Sleeps in the reeds that fringe our winding Thames Which to awake were sweeter ravishment Than ever Syrinx wept for; diadems Of brown bee-studded orchids which were meant p. 68For Cytheræa’s brows are hidden here Unknown to Cytheræa, and by yonder pasturing steer

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There is a tiny yellow daffodil, The butterfly can see it from afar, Although one summer evening’s dew could fill Its little cup twice over ere the star Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold And be no prodigal; each leaf is flecked with spotted gold

As if Jove’s gorgeous leman Danae Hot from his gilded arms had stooped to kiss The trembling petals, or young Mercury Low-flying to the dusky ford of Dis Had with one feather of his pinions Just brushed them! the slight stem which bears the burden of its suns

Is hardly thicker than the gossamer, Or poor Arachne’s silver tapestry,— Men say it bloomed upon the sepulchre Of One I sometime worshipped, but to me It seems to bring diviner memories Of faun-loved Heliconian glades and blue nymph-haunted seas,

p. 69Of an untrodden vale at Tempe where On the clear river’s marge Narcissus lies, The tangle of the forest in his hair,  The silence of the woodland in his eyes, Wooing that drifting imagery which is No sooner kissed than broken; memories of Salmacis

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Who is not boy nor girl and yet is both, Fed by two fires and unsatisfied Through their excess, each passion being loth For love’s own sake to leave the other’s side Yet killing love by staying; memories Of Oreads peeping through the leaves of silent moonlit trees,

Of lonely Ariadne on the wharf At Naxos, when she saw the treacherous crew Far out at sea, and waved her crimson scarf And called false Theseus back again nor knew That Dionysos on an amber pard Was close behind her; memories of what Mæonia’s bard

With sightless eyes beheld, the wall of Troy, Queen Helen lying in the ivory room, And at her side an amorous red-lipped boy Trimming with dainty hand his helmet’s plume, p. 70And far away the moil, the shout, the groan, As Hector shielded off the spear and Ajax hurled the stone;

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Of wingèd Perseus with his flawless sword Cleaving the snaky tresses of the witch, And all those tales imperishably stored In little Grecian urns, freightage more rich 

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