O my gorgeous-mailéd knight,
Whom a finger-tip can fright!
At my touch upstarting shy,
With a silvery-rolling eye,
Leaping, winding, sudden splashing,
This way dashing, that way flashing!
I’ll not harm thee; lie thou still;
Heave not fin nor glittering gill;
Globe-kept captive, thou shalt find
Fellow-feeling makes me kind.