The essays of Elia . s my hands themselves do on melons, as I pass,Insnared with flowers, I fall on the mind from pleasure lessWithdraws into its mind, that ocean, where each kindDoes straight its own resemblance find;Yet it creates, transcending other worlds, and other seas ;Annihilating all thats madeTo a green thought in a green at the fountains shding footOr at some fruit-trees mossy rootCasting the bodys vest soul into the boughs doth gUde ;There, Uke a bird, it sits and whets and claps its s
The essays of Elia . s my hands themselves do on melons, as I pass,Insnared with flowers, I fall on the mind from pleasure lessWithdraws into its mind, that ocean, where each kindDoes straight its own resemblance find;Yet it creates, transcending other worlds, and other seas ;Annihilating all thats madeTo a green thought in a green at the fountains shding footOr at some fruit-trees mossy rootCasting the bodys vest soul into the boughs doth gUde ;There, Uke a bird, it sits and whets and claps its silver , till prepared for longer in its plumes the various well the skilful gardener drewOf flowers and herbs, this dial new,Where, from above, the milder sunDoes through a fragrant zodiac run:And, as it works, the industrious beeComputes its time as well as could such sweet and wholesome hoursBe reckoned, but with herbs and flowers ? From a copy of verses entitled The THE MOST ELEGANT SPOT IN THF OLD BENCHERS OF THE INNER TEMPLE The artificial fountains of the metropohs are, in hkemanner, fast \anishing. Most of them are dried up orbricked over. Yet, where one is left, as in that Httlegreen nook behind the South-Sea House, what a freshnessit gives to the dreary pile ! Four little winged marbleboys used to play their virgin fancies, spouting out everfresh streams from their innocent-wanton lips, in thesquare of Lincolns Inn, when I was no bigger than theywere figured. They are gone, and the spring choked fashion, they tell me, is gone by, and these thingsare esteemed childish, \\Tiy not, then, gratify children,by letting them stand ? Lawyers, I suppose, werechildren once. They are awakening images to them atleast. \Vhy must everything smack of man, and man-nish ? Is the world all grown up ? Is childliood dead ?Or is there not in the bosoms of the wisest and the bestsome of the childs heart left, to respond to its earliest
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlambchar, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1910
