For milkmaids and queens and gipsy-princesses

Then, cleaving the grass, gazelles appear (The gentler dolphins of kindlier waves) With sensitive heads alert of ear; Frail crowds that a delicate hearing saves.

"Shells with lip, or tooth, or bleeding gum, Tell-tale shells, and shells that whisper 'Come', Shells that stammer, blush, and yet are dumb – " "O let me hear!"

Break free, my soul, good manners are thy tomb!

Bubble, bubble, flows the stream Like an old tune through a dream.

The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their mighty honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.

Old scenes to visit, and old dreams to dream, Shall not to us a task of labour seem.