Beyond Mágdalen and by the Bridge, on a place called there the Plain, 
In Summer, in a burst of summertime 
Following falls and falls of rain, 
When the air was sweet-and-sour of the flown fineflower of 
Those goldnails and their gaylinks that hang along a lime;
. . . . . . . .
The motion of that man?s heart is fine 
Whom want could not make píne, píne 
That struggling should not sear him, a gift should cheer him 
Like that poor pocket of pence, poor pence of mine.
. . . . . . . .