The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'
Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.