This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,–
Such tents the Patriarchs loved ! O long unharmed
May all its ag?d boughs o’er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves ! Long may the Spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant’s breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse ! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy’s Page,
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here Twilight is and Coolness : here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may’st toil far and find no second tree.
Drink, Pilgrim, here ; Here rest ! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees !
(Samuel Coleridge)
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Based on Topics: Nature Poems, Sleep Poems, Spring Poems, Dancing Poems, Listening Poems, Sleeping Poems, Fairy PoemsBased on Keywords: moss, bottom, bees, pulse, ample, quietly, gale, surface, innocent, hum, traveller