Of the green-fly; and pours its loveliness
In rapture on the earth; in theatres
Of crowded congregation sits—nor stirs—
Watching itself, itself the spectacle;
And builds the swallow’s breast, and shapes the shell
And all these mansions of its thought that are
Between the morning and the evening-star,
On earth, in heaven, or in the glimmering caves
And grottoes of the world below the waves—
Butchers the ox, and, gladdened by his meat,