A trickling stream from high rocks tumbling downe,
And ever-drizzling rain upon the loft,
Mixed with a murmuring wind much like the sowne
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swoone:
No other noise, nor people’s troublous cries,
As still are wont t’ annoy the walléd towne,
Might there be heard; but careless Quiet lies,
Wrapped in eternal silence, far from enemies.”
An intelligent writer reminds us that in reading this stanza, we ought to humor it with a corresponding tone of voice, lowering or deepening it, “as though we were going to bed ourselves, or thinking of the rainy night that had lulled us.” He suggests also that attention to the accent and pause in the last line will make us feel the depth and distance of the scene. Another illustration is furnished by the well known lines of Pope:
“Soft is the stream when Zephyr gently blows,