« ZurückWeiter »
From the young day when first thy infant hand
Mute thou remainest Mute? yet I can read
and lo! from all his limbs Celestial
What inore felicity can fall to creature
Fate of the Butterfly. - SPENSER.
TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ.
GLORY and loveliness have pass'd away ;
For if we wander out in early morn,
No wreathed incense do we see upborne
In woven baskets bringing ears of corn,
And I shall ever bless my destiny,
Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free, A leafy luxury, seeing I could please
With these poor offerings, a man like thee.