  Think you I choose or that or this to sing? I lie as patient as yon wealthy stream Dreaming among green fields its summer dream, Which takes whate’er the gracious hours will bring Into its quiet bosom; not a thing Too common, since perhaps you see it there Who else had never seen it, though as fair As on the world’s first morn; a fluttering Of idle butterflies; or the deft seeds Blown from a thistle-head; a silver dove As faultlessly; or the large, yearning eyes Of pale Narcissus; or beside the reeds A shepherd seeking lilies for his love, And evermore the all-encircling skies. |
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