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The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 52, Pages 372-373
A LONG WHILE AGO.
Still hangeth down the old accustom'd willow,
Hiding the silver underneath each leaf,
So droops the long hair from some maiden pillow,
When midnight heareth her else silent grief;
There floats the water-lily, like a sovereign
Whose lovely empire is a fairy world,
The purple dragon-fly above it hovering,
As when its fragile ivory uncurl'd,
A long while ago.
I hear the bees in sleepy music winging
From the wild thyme where they have past the noon—
There is the blackbird in the hawthorn singing,
Stirring the white spray with the same sweet tune;
