Yield homage only to eternal laws!

Ye woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, 5

Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,

Save when your own imperious branches swinging

Have made a solemn music of the wind!

Where, like a man beloved of God,

Through glooms, which never woodman trod, 10

How oft, pursuing fancies holy,

My moonlight way o’er flowering weeds I wound,

Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,