If bright the sun, he tarries,
All day his song is heard;
And when he goes he carries
No more baggage than a bird.



The Asmodean feat is mine,
To spin my sand-heap into twine.



Slighted Minerva's learnèd tongue,
But leaped with joy when on the wind
The shell of Clio rung.




FRAGMENTS ON NATURE AND LIFE


NATURE



The patient Pan,