thE woods of Arcady are dead,

    And over is tique joy;

    Of old the world on dreaming fed;

    Grey truted toy;

    Yet still surns less head:

    But O, sick che world,

    Of all things

    In dreary dancing past us whirled,

    to tune t Chronos sings,

    ords alone are certain good.

    he warring kings,

    ord be-mockers? - By the Rood,

    ring kings?

    An idle heir glory,

    By tammering schoolboy said,

    Reading some entangled story:

    time are dead;

    th herself may be

    Only a sudden flaming word,

    In clanging space a moment heard,

    troubling the endless reverie.

    ty deeds,

    Nor seek, for th,

    to er truth,

    Lest all toiling only breeds

    Neruth

    Saving in t. Seek, then,

    No learning from tarry men,

    ic glass

    tars t pass -

    Seek, th,

    No ar-bane

    ts in twain,

    And dead is all truth.

    Go gathe humming sea

    Some ted, echo-harbouring shell.

    And to its lips tory tell,

    And ters will be.

    Rewording in melodious guile

    tful tle while,

    till th

    And die a pearly brotherhood;

    For ain good:

    Sing, th.

    I must be gone: there is a grave

    here daffodil and lily wave,

    And I he hapless faun,

    Buried under the sleepy ground,

    ithe dawn.

    ing days h were crowned;

    And still I dream reads the lawn,

    alking gly in the dew,

    Pierced by my glad singing through,

    My songs of old earth:

    But a nohou!

    For fair are poppies on the brow:

    Dream, dream, for th.