Conjecture of the plumage and the form,—
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn 335
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Breaks from a coppice gemm’d with green and red,
And he suspends his converse with a friend, 340
Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, “There is the nightingale,”—