Phantom of being, Protean face, Parasite of rock, of towers and man Since sun and matter erst began, Fleet vanisher from our embrace, Thy fairy forms the faithful ape Of substance; all the landscape In thy mimic loom mere woven air Where naught is real yet all is fair; Taunting us with bold mockeries And willing cheats and splendid lies, Deceiving all sense save the eyes. Flying without wings Gigantic o'er the mountain's knees; Or of tiniest things Etching their wavy images; Or playing some fantastic trick To please the fancy of a child; Or tireless watcher of the sick When others are by sleep beguiled. Thou follower of sun and moon, Gatherer of the undulating mass Through which no light may pass, Over the whole world darkening soon, Or standing steadfast all an afternoon Behind some oak tree's ancient crown Until the lingered sun goes down-- Give to the weary traveller repose In thy cool umbrageous tent, And to the husbandman, who goes To thee by heat and toil forespent, Give sleep, and let thy veil his limbs enclose. ECHO Echo is mate of shadow and of shade, Saying only what is given it to say; Hiding in wall or cave or wooded glade, Without ideas, sound with sound at play. But thou, sweet echo, art my faithful friend; For when my simple songs on all ears die Thou art responsive to the very end, And answerest them with perfect flattery. HOLIDAYS