Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/293

Wandering harpers, harping on
 Chorded drops, as such,—
Drawing colours, for a tune,
 With a vibrant touch.

Bring a shadow green and still
 From the chestnut forest,—
Bring a purple from the hill,
 When the heat is sorest,—
Spread them out from wall to wall,
 Carpet-wove around,—
Whereupon the foot shall fall
 In light instead of sound.

Bring the fantasque cloudlets home,
 From the noontide zenith;
Banged, for sculptures, round the room,—
 Named as Fancy weeneth:
Some be Junos, without eyes—
 Naiads, without sources—
Some be birds of paradise,—
 Some, Olympian horses.

Bring the dews the birds shake off,
 Waking in the hedges,—
Those too, perfumed for a proof,
 From the lilies' edges:
From our England's field and moor,
 Bring them calm and white in,—
Whence to form a mirror pure,
 For Love's self-delighting!

Bring a grey cloud from the east,
 Where the lark is singing,—
Something of the song at least,
 Unlost in the bringing:
That shall be a morning chair,
 Poet-dream may sit in,
When it leans out on the air,
 Unrhymed and unwritten.