Or again :- 



199 



All in a hot and copper sky, 



The bloody sun, at noon, 

 Right up above the mast did stand, 



No bigger than the moon. 



Day after day, day after day, 



We stuck ; nor breath, nor motion ; 



As idle as a painted ship. 

 Upon a painted ocean." 



" 'Twas not these souls that fled in pain, 

 Which to their corses came again, 

 But a troop of spirits blest. 



For when it dawned, they dropped their arms. 



And clustered round the mast ; 

 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 



And from their bodies past. 



Around, around, flew each sweet sound. 



Then darted to the sun ; 

 Slowly the sounds came back again, 



Xow mixed, now one by one. 



Sometimes a-dropping from the sky, 



I heard the skylark sing ; 

 Sometimes all little birds that are, 

 How they seemed to fill the sea and air, 



With their sweet jargoning. 



And now 'twas like all instruments. 



Now like a lonely flute ; 

 And now it is an angel's song. 



That makes the heavens be mute. 



It ceased : yet still the sails made on, 



A pleasant noise till noon ; 

 A noise like of a hidden brook. 



In the leafy month of June ; 

 That to the sleeping woods all night, 



Singeth a quiet tune. 



