Lark-like in the heavens' scope

When dew gleams on grassy slope.

Roaming meadows, daisy-decked,

'Tis a child afoot, unchecked,

Gladness in her azure eyes,

As she sees with mute surprise

Brooding birds in hedges' heart,

Building nests with simple art.

And at dawning, near a mere,

Girdled by the bulrush spear,

Fancy as a heron stalks

Heedful of the hated hawks.

Fancy is a butterfly

Born to live brief life and die.

'Tis a pink-lipped shell afloat,

Fit for tiny fairy's boat;

Fair in fiction, false in fact,

Shunned by men who are exact,

Loved by poet whom it guides

When on Pegasus he rides;

Lover's joy when maid is true,

Lover's woe when, stricken through

With sharp dart, his trust is slain!

Bright and dark and bright again,

Phantom! none thy face may paint,

Since—now sinner, and then saint—

Thou dost peer from cowl or crown,

Now with smile, anon with frown.

Sweet Sprite! thou alone canst trace

Airy pictures of thy face;

Thou who limnest Rosamond,

Guinevere, and Juliet fond.

Fancy, Fancy, come and charm,

Grasped by clutch of graven gold,

Jove's fetters, her to have and hold!

This swift Ariel serves us well,

Lets us in the glamour's spell,

Drink beside Bacchante fair,

Toy with Pyrrha's braided hair,