SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race.
Apollo hunted Daphne so,
Only that she might laurel grow. 30
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
What wondrous life in this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of tl^e vine 35
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach;
'Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
.Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 46
.Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
"Withdraws into its happiness:
The mind, that ocean where each kind
.Does straight its own resemblance find;
"Yet it creates, transcending these, 4«
par other worlds, and other seas ;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 50
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide :
There like a bird it sits and sings,
Then whets, and combs its silver wings;
And, till prepared for longer flight, 55
Waves in its plumes the various light.
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