HOW sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks br The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood! br An old place, full of many a lovely brood, br Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks; br And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, br Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks br At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,-- br When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks br The crowd beneath her. Verily I think, br Such place to me is sometimes like a dream br Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link, br Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam br Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink, br And leap at once from the delicious stream.