And half abstracted, like the ancient Hindoo,
I paused beneath the shade.
What is, I said, this unremitting humming,
Louder than bees in spring?
As unto prayer the murmurous answer coming,
Shed from Sandalphon's wing.
Is this the sound of unimpeded labour,
That now usurpeth play?
Our harsher substitute for pipe and tabor,
Ghittern and virelay?