(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake. 

 The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows. 

 My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make. 



ROBERT FROST 



TO A NIGHTINGALE 



MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

 My sense, as though of hemlock I had dnmk, 

 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 



One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 

 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. 

 But being too happy in thy happiness, — 

 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 

 In some melodious plot 

 Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 

 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 



O for a draught of vintage, that hath been 



Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 

 Tasting of Flora and the country green. 



Dance, and Proven9al song, and sun-burnt mirth 

 O for a beaker full of the warm South, 

 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 

 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 

 And purple-stained mouth ; 

 That I might drink, and leave the world unseen. 

 And with thee fade away into the forest dim. 



Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

 What thou among the leaves hast never known. 



The weariness, the fever, and the fret 



Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 



7 



