162 
INNOCENCE. 
Whole summer fields are thine by right, 
And autumn, melancholy wight! 
Doth in thy crimson head delight, 
When rains are on thee. 
In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
Thou greetest the traveller in the lane ; 
If welcomed once thou comest again ; 
Thou art not daunted; 
Nor carest if thou be set at nought; 
And oft alone, in nooks remote 
We meet, thee, like a pleasant thought, 
When such are wanted. 
The violets in their secret mews, 
The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 
Her head impearling; 
Thou livest with less ambitious name, 
Yet hast not gone without thy fame; 
Thou art, indeed, by many a claim, 
The poet’s darling. 
If to a rock from rains he fly, 
Or, some bright day of April’s sky, 
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie 
Near the green holly ; 
And wearily at. length should fare; 
He need but look about, and there 
Thou art! — a friend at hand, to scare 
His melancholy. 
A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
Ere thus I have lain couch’d an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 
Some apprehension. 
