Little Cyclops with one eye

Baring to threaten and defy,

The freak is over,

The shape will vanish-and behold

lver shield with boss of gold,

That spreads itself, some faery bold
In fight to cover!

thee glittering from afar

nd then thou art a pretty star;
fet quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee!

let like a star, with glittering crest,
elf-poised in air thou seem'st to rest
lay peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!

hight Flower! for by that name at last, Then all my reveries are past,

tall thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature!

Thyself thy own enjoyment.

40

ha: breath'st with me in sun and air, 45 thou, as thou art wont, repair

heart with gladness, and a share Ui thy meek nature!

My dazzled sight he oft deceives, Brother of the dancing leaves;

30

Then flits, and from the cottage eaves 35 Pours forth his song in gushes;

As if by that exulting strain

He mocked and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.

X.

TO A SKY-LARK.

[Composed 1805.-Published 1807.]

40

To be such a traveller as I.

Happy, happy Liver,

21 Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call,

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.1
[Composed April 30, 1802.-Published 1807.]
PANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,

5

When we've little warmth, or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood!
Travel with the multitude:
Never heed them; I aver

That they all are wanton wooers;
But the thrifty cottager,
Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home;
Spring is coming, Thou art come!

Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane; there's not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,

But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien ;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine,
10 Little, humble Celandine.

Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill-requited upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,

Serving at my heart's command,

Since the day I found thee out,

Little Flower-I'll make a stir,

15

Of a joyous train ensuing,

Like a sage astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an Elf

Bold, and lavish of thyself;

Since we needs must first have met

20

Tasks that are no tasks renewing, I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love!

I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet
'Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,
In the time before the thrush

1 Common Pilewort.

XII.

TO THE SAME FLOWER. [Composed May 1, 1802.-Published 18071

25 PLEASURES newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet: February last, my heart

First at sight of thee was glad;

All unheard of as thou art,

Thou must needs, I think, have had, Celandine! and long ago,

Praise of which I nothing know.

fhave not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
Workman worthy to be sainted)
et the sign-board in a blaze,
Then the rising sun he painted,
bok the fancy from a glance

thy glittering countenance.

on as gentle breezes bring

w of winter's vanishing,

and the children build their bowers, ficking 'kerchief-plots of mould

about with full-blown flowers, back as sheep in shepherd's fold! Tith the proudest thou art there, antling in the tiny square.

ften have I sighed to measure
myself a lonely pleasure,
hed to think I read a book
ay read, perhaps, by me;
et Ilong could overlook

bright coronet and Thee, nd thy arch and wily ways, ed thy store of other praise.

Sithe of heart, from week to week a dost play at hide-and-seek; hile the patient primrose sits se a beggar in the cold, ECT a flower of wiser wits, pst into thy sheltering hold; veliest of the vernal train

hen ye all are out again.

awn by what peculiar spell, what charm of sight or smell, es the dim-eyed curious Bee, baring for her waxen cells, ndly settle upon Thee

the season multiplied?1

Away they fly to left, to right—

Of your fair household, Father-knight, 30 Methinks you take small heed!

G

But now, upstarting with affright

At noise of man and steed,

ized above all buds and bells

ening daily at thy side,