Fancy
Ever
let
the
Fancy
roam,
Pleasure
never
is
at
home:
At
a
touch
sweet
Pleasure
melteth,
Like
to
bubbles
when
rain
pelteth;
Then
let
winged
Fancy
wander
Through
the
thought
still
spread
beyond
her:
Open
wide
the
mind's
cage-door,
She'll
dart
forth,
and
cloudward
soar.
O
sweet
Fancy!
let
her
loose;
Summer's
joys
are
spoilt
by
use,
And
the
enjoying
of
the
Spring
Fades
as
does
its
blossoming;
Autumn's
red-lipp'd
fruitage
too,
Blushing
through
the
mist
and
dew,
Cloys
with
tasting:
What
do
then?
Sit
thee
by
the
ingle,
when
The
sear
faggot
blazes
bright,
Spirit
of
a
winter's
night;
When
the
soundless
earth
is
muffled,
And
the
caked
snow
is
shuffled
From
the
ploughboy's
heavy
shoon;
When
the
Night
doth
meet
the
Noon
In
a
dark
conspiracy
To
banish
Even
from
her
sky.
Sit
thee
there,
and
send
abroad,
With
a
mind
self-overaw'd,
Fancy,
high-commission'd:—send
her!
She
has
vassals
to
attend
her:
She
will
bring,
in
spite
of
frost,
Beauties
that
the
earth
hath
lost;
She
will
bring
thee,
all
together,
All
delights
of
summer
weather;
All
the
buds
and
bells
of
May,
From
dewy
sward
or
thorny
spray;
All
the
heaped
Autumn's
wealth,
With
a
still,
mysterious
stealth:
She
will
mix
these
pleasures
up
Like
three
fit
wines
in
a
cup,
And
thou
shalt
quaff
it:—thou
shalt
hear
Distant
harvest-carols
clear;
Rustle
of
the
reaped
corn;
Sweet
birds
antheming
the
morn:
And,
in
the
same
moment,
hark!
'Tis
the
early
April
lark,
Or
the
rooks,
with
busy
caw,
Foraging
for
sticks
and
straw.
Thou
shalt,
at
one
glance,
behold
The
daisy
and
the
marigold;
White-plum'd
lillies,
and
the
first
Hedge-grown
primrose
that
hath
burst;
Shaded
hyacinth,
alway
Sapphire
queen
of
the
mid-May;
And
every
leaf,
and
every
flower
Pearled
with
the
self-same
shower.
Thou
shalt
see
the
field-mouse
peep
Meagre
from
its
celled
sleep;
And
the
snake
all
winter-thin
Cast
on
sunny
bank
its
skin;
Freckled
nest-eggs
thou
shalt
see
Hatching
in
the
hawthorn-tree,
When
the
hen-bird's
wing
doth
rest
Quiet
on
her
mossy
nest;
Then
the
hurry
and
alarm
When
the
bee-hive
casts
its
swarm;
Acorns
ripe
down-pattering,
While
the
autumn
breezes
sing.
Oh,
sweet
Fancy!
let
her
loose;
Every
thing
is
spoilt
by
use:
Where's
the
cheek
that
doth
not
fade,
Too
much
gaz'd
at?
Where's
the
maid
Whose
lip
mature
is
ever
new?
Where's
the
eye,
however
blue,
Doth
not
weary?
Where's
the
face
One
would
meet
in
every
place?
Where's
the
voice,
however
soft,
One
would
hear
so
very
oft?
At
a
touch
sweet
Pleasure
melteth
Like
to
bubbles
when
rain
pelteth.
Let,
then,
winged
Fancy
find
Thee
a
mistress
to
thy
mind:
Dulcet-ey'd
as
Ceres'
daughter,
Ere
the
God
of
Torment
taught
her
How
to
frown
and
how
to
chide;
With
a
waist
and
with
a
side
White
as
Hebe's,
when
her
zone
Slipt
its
golden
clasp,
and
down
Fell
her
kirtle
to
her
feet,
While
she
held
the
goblet
sweet
And
Jove
grew
languid.—Break
the
mesh
Of
the
Fancy's
silken
leash;
Quickly
break
her
prison-string
And
such
joys
as
these
she'll
bring.—
Let
the
winged
Fancy
roam,
Pleasure
never
is
at
home.
