thE woods of Arcady are dead,

        And over is tique joy;

        Of old the world on dreaming fed;

        Grey truted toy;

        Yet still surns less head:

        But O, sick che world,

        Of all things

        In dreary dang past us whirled,

        to tu os sings,

        ords alone are certain good.

        he warring kings,

        ord be-mockers? - By the Rood,

        ring kings?

        An idle heir glory,

        By tammering schoolboy said,

        Reading some entaory:

        time are dead;

        th herself may be

        Only a sudden flaming word,

        In ging space a moment heard,

        troubling the endless reverie.

        ty deeds,

        Nor seek, for th,

        to er truth,

        Lest all toiling only breeds

        h

        Saving in t. Seek, then,

        No learning from tarry men,

        ic glass

        tars t pass -

        Seek, th,

        No ar-bane

        ts in twain,

        And dead is all truth.

        Go gathe humming sea

        Some ted, echo-harb shell.

        And to its lips tory tell,

        And ters will be.

        Rew in melodious guile

        tful tle while,

        till th

        And die a pearly brotherhood;

        For ain good:

        Sing, th.

        I must be gohere is a grave

        here daffodil and lily wave,

        And I he hapless faun,

        Buried uhe sleepy ground,

        ithe dawn.

        ing days h were ed;

        And still I dream reads the lawn,

        alking gly in the dew,

        Pierced by my glad singing through,

        My songs of old earth:

        But a nohou!

        For fair are poppies on the brow:

        Dream, dream, for th.
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