• The thronged boughs of the shadowy sycamore
• Still fledge young leaflets half the summer through;
• From when the robin 'gainst the unhidden blue
• Perched dark, till now, deep in the leafy core,
• The embowered throstles' urgent clangours gore
• The Summer silence. Still the leaves come new;
• Yet never rosy-sheathed as those which drew
• Their spiral tongues from spring-buds heretofore.

• Within the branching shade of Reverie
• 10Dreams even may spring till autumn; yet none be
• Like woman's budding day-dream spirit-fann'd.
• Lo! Tow'rd deep skies, not deeper than her look,
• She dreams; till now on her forgotten book
• Drops the forgotten blossom from her hand.