His headlong dash among the dace
Beneath the willow-tree;
Ye little bleak, lift up your heads,
Ye gudgeon, skip at score,
The run between the lily beds
Shall know its lord no more!
Yet, while th' exalted pulses stir,
Regret takes hands with Pride,
Regret for that most splendid spur—
The Wish Ungratified;