406 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
From eyes that once have known thy face ; And, though thou surely wilt not deign To rank me of thy household train, And though thy stair I may not mount To fill my pitcher at thy fount. Yet sometimes at thine outer gate With Science' servants do I wait. Discoursing of thy worth, while she Sits in thine inner courts with thee. Often, some wandering muse to meet. Ere the first warblers wake, my feet Over the lawns and meadows pass. Brushing the dewdrops from the grass ; And, when night is drawing near. And the fenny choirs I hear From the meadows piping clear, Mingled with the cowbell's clink, Where the herds have stopped to drink, While brooding silence casts her spell O'er dewy dale and dreamy dell, Then oft, with meditation met. All things of earth do I forget, Through bushy by-paths wandering far By the light of evening star. Till distant chimes with drowsy hum Proclaim the hour of rest is come, And warn me with the dying bell Once more to seek the studious cell, Where Morpheus seldom comes to knock Till early dawn hath waked the cock. From night till morn, from morn till night, Thy worship an unmixed delight.
Thus would I serve thee day by day. Till old age shall make me gray ;
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