That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away-forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Unless it trembled with the strings. DIM vales-and shadowy floods- Whose forms we can't discover Every moment of the night For ever changing places-- And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces. About twelve by the moon-dial One more filmy than the rest (A kind which, upon trial, They have found to be the best) Comes down-still down-and down With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence, While its wide circumference Over hamlets, over halls, In the morning they arise, With the tempests as they toss, They use that moon no more Videlicet a tent Which I think extravagant : Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies |