By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd, 1807.
[4] 1827.
To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall,
Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small. 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare Hart-Leap Well, l. 117 (vol. ii. p. 134).—Ed.
"HOW SWEET IT IS, WHEN MOTHER FANCY ROCKS"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks;
And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, 5
Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks[1]
At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,—
When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks
The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream 10
Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link,
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.