I will repent me of my ways;
I will come here and bury
Five thousand odd superfluous days
Beneath a flow'ring cherry.

Between a pear and a cherry tree
My temple I will enter--
My place, where even I may be
The altar and the centre.

One altar to a thousand aisles,
A hundred thousand arches ...
The loud lamb-choir about me files,
The bleating bishop marches,

The congregation kneels and nods,
The bishop leads its praises,
So I'll pray too, to their dim gods
Whose feet are decked with daisies:

_Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let
Me not grow old, and falter
In my delusion, or forget
My heart was once an altar.
Let me still think myself a star
With these my rays about me;
Pretend these green perspectives are
All purposeless without me._

_Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid