With its resigning odours; the rich hues
Wherein the gay leaves revel to their fall;
The deep blue sky; the misty distances,
And splashing fountains; and I thought I heard
A magic service of meandering music
Threading the glades and stealing on the lawns.
Was I mistaken?
Re-enter Tristram unperceived; he stands by listening at back, as if waiting to be observed.
F.Nay, nay: there was music.
But why the jocund morn so dissolutely