explain themselves--as all poems should do without any comment-- 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 Towards heaven 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 doth its blossoming: Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with kissing. What do then? Sit thee in an ingle when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter 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 moon In a dark conspiracy To banish vesper from the sky. Sit thee then and send abroad With a Mind self-overaw'd Fancy high-commission'd; send her,-- She'll have vassals to attend her-- She will bring thee, spite of frost, Beauties that the Earth has lost; She will bring thee all together All delights of summer weather; All the faery buds of May, On spring turf or scented 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 Instant harvest carols clear, Bustle of the reaped corn Sweet Birds antheming the Morn; And in the same moment hark To the early April lark, And the rooks with busy caw Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt at one glance behold The daisy and the marigold; White plumed lilies and the first Hedgerow primrose that hath burst; Shaded Hyacinth alway Sapphire Queen of the Mid-may; And every leaf and every flower Pearled with the same soft shower. Thou shalt see the fieldmouse creep Meagre from its celled sleep, And the snake all winter shrank Cast its skin on sunny bank; Freckled nest eggs shalt thou see Hatching in the hawthorn tree; When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on its mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the Beehive casts its swarm-- Acorns ripe down scattering While the autumn breezes sing, For the same sleek throated mouse To store up in its winter house. O, sweet Fancy, let her loose! Every joy is spoilt by use: Every pleasure, every joy-- Not a Mistress but doth cloy. 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 too oft and 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-eyed as Ceres' daughter Ere the God of torment taught her How to frown and how to chide: