HER eyelids dropped their silken eavcs, Through all the summer of my leaves, Sometimes I let a sunbeam slip A second fluttered round her lip, Like a golden butterfly. TENNYSON. SUMMER REVERIE. I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn, There was wide wandering for the greediest eye, To peer about upon variety; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, To picture out the quaint and curious bending Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves. SUMMER REVERIE. 61 I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them; And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them A filbert-hedge with wild-brier overtwined, That with a score of light green brethren shoots By infant hands, left on the path to die. |