Indulgence grant thou my profane surprise,
Pray!—then to dream where thou didst dream before,
Benevolent! ... here where the veiny leaves
Bask broad the fuzzy bosoms of their hands
O'er wistful waters: 'neath this sycamore,
Smooth, giraffe-brindled, where each ripple weaves
A twinkling quiver as of marching bands
III.
Of Elfin chivalry, that, helmed with gold,
Split spilled the scaley sunbeams wrinkled off.