Iii

Ye Voices, and ye Shadows And Images of voice--to hound and horn From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows Flung back, and, in the sky's blue caves, reborn-- On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells A greeting give of measured glee; And milder echoes from their cells Repeat the bridal symphony. Then, or far earlier, let us rove Where mists are breaking up or gone, And from aloft look down into a cove Besprinkled with a careless quire, Happy milk-maids, one by one Scattering a ditty each to her desire, A liquid concert matchless by nice Art, A stream as if from one full heart.