65 fall, Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and brakes That humor interposed too often makes; Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jassamine, 75 I pricked them into paper with a pin (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Would softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), Could those few pleasant days again So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, And undebased by praise of meaner things! "Where tempests never beat nor billows That, ere through age or woe I shed my roar." wings, 5 45 And so long he, with unspent power, 40 50 5 His destiny repelled; And ever, as the minutes flew, At length, his transient respite past, No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, 45 50 THE HOLY FAIR Upon a simmers Sunday morn, I walked forth to view the corn As lightsomely I glowered 13 abroad The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 5 11 ΙΟ 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 |