IN the Dean's porch a nest of clay br With five small tentants may be seen; br Five solemn faces, each as wise br As if its owner were a Dean. br br Five downy fledglings in a row, br Packed close, as in the antique pew br The school-girls are whose foreheads clear br At the Venite shine on you. br br Day after day the swallows sit br With scarce a stir, with scarce a sound, br But dreaming and digesting much br They grow thus wise and soft and round: br br They watch the Canons come to dine, br And hear, the mullion-bars across, br Over the fragrant fruit and wine br Deep talk of rood-screen and reredos. br br Her hands with field-flowers drenched, a child br Leaps past in wind-blown dress and hair, br The swallows turn their heads askew -- br Five judges deem that she is fair. br br Prelusive touches sound within, br Straightway they recognise the sign, br And, blandly nodding, they approve br The minuet of Rubinstein. br br They mark the cousins' schoolboy talk, br (Male birds flown wide from minster bell), br And blink at each broad term of art, br Binomial or bicycle. br br Ah! downy soft ones, soft and warm, br Doth such a stillness mask from sight br Such swiftness? can such peace conceal br Passion and ecstasy of flight? br br Yet somewhere 'mid your Easter suns, br Under a white Greek architrave br At morn, or when the shaft of fire br Lies large upon the Indian wave, br br A sense of something dear gone by br Will stir, strange longings thrill the heart br For a small world embowered close, br Of which ye sometime were a part. br br The dew-drenched flowers, the child's glad eyes br Your joy inhuman shall control, br And in your wings a light and wind br Shall move from the Maestro's soul.