In William’s carol—(O love my Willie!)
When he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow
I quite forgot what—say a daffodilly:
A nest in a hollow, “with buds to follow,”
I think occurred next in his nimble strain;
And clay that was “kneaden” of course in Eden—
A rhyme most novel, I do maintain:
* * * * *
O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers,
And all the brave rhymes of an elder day,