VII.

Trees, trees on all sides! they combine Their plumy shades to throw, Through whose clear fruit and blossom fine Whene'er the sun may go, The ground beneath he deeply stains, As passing through cathedral panes.

But little needs this earth of ours That shining from above her, When many Pleiades of flowers (Not one lost) star her over, The rays of their unnumbered hues Being all refracted by the dews.

Wide-petalled plants that boldly drink The Amreeta of the sky, Shut bells that dull with rapture sink, And lolling buds, half shy; I cannot count them, but between Is room for grass and mosses green,