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Or with a less uneasy lustre shine ;
Yet not for this do I aspire
When this in modest guise was said,
Fire raged, - and when the spangled floor
This knowledge, from an Angel's voice
Pleasure is spread through the earth
By their floating Mill,
Which lies dead and still, Behold
Prisoners three ! The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the
Thames; The Platform is small, but gives room for them all; And they're dancing merrily.
From the shore come the notes
To their Mill where it floats, To their House and their Mill tethered fast; To the small wooden Isle where, their work to
beguile, They from morning to even take whatever is given ;And many a blithe day they have past.
In sight of the Spires,
All alive with the fires
In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,
Man and Maidens wheel,
They themselves make the Reel, And their Music's a prey which they seize; It plays not for them, — what matter ! 'tis theirs ; And if they had care it has scattered their cares, While they dance, crying, “ Long as ye please!"
They dance not for me,
Yet mine is their glee ! Thus pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find; Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind, Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.
The Showers of the Spring
Rouze the Birds, and they sing ; If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight, Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss ; Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his
brother; They are happy, for that is their right!
THE FALLING LEAVES.
That way look, my Infant, lo !