Of winter’s household, they keep festival 195
This day, who drooped, or seemed to droop, so long;
They shew their pleasure, and shall I do less?
Happiest of happy though I be, like them
I cannot take possession of the sky,
Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, 200
One of a mighty multitude, whose way
Is a perpetual harmony, and dance
Magnificent. Behold, how with a grace
Of ceaseless motion,[362] that might scarcely seem