White, black and crimson stripes, and peacock eyes, 



Or on chance flowers sit. 



With idle effort plundering one by one 



The nectaries of deepest throated blooms. 



With gentle flaws the western breeze 

 Into the garden saileth. 



Scarce here and there stirring the single trees. 

 For his sharpness he vaileth : 

 So long a comrade of the bearded corn. 

 Now from the stubbles whence the shocks are borne. 

 O'er dewy lawns he turns to stray. 

 As mindful of the kisses and soft play 

 WTierewith he enamoured the light-hearted May, 

 Ere he deserted her ; 

 Lover of fragrance, and too late repents ; 

 Nor more of heavy hyacinth now may drink, 

 Nor spicy pink. 



Nor Summer's rose, nor garnered lavender. 

 But the few lingering scents 

 Of streaked pea, and gillyflower, and stocks 

 Of courtly purple, and aromatic phlox. 



And at all times to hear are drowsy tones 

 Of dizzy flies, and humming drones, 

 With sudden flap of pigeon wings in the sky. 

 Or the wild cry 



Of thirsty rooks, that scour ascare 

 The distant blue, to watering as they fare 

 With creaking pinions, or — on business bent, 

 If aught their ancient polity displease — 

 Come gathering to their colony, and there 

 Settling in ragged parliament. 

 Some stormy council hold in the high trees. 



ROBERT BRIDGES. 



57 



