Frail Travellers, deftly flickering over the flowers; 
O living flowers against the heedless blue 
Of summer days, what sends them dancing through 
This fiery-blossom?d revel of the hours? 

Theirs are the musing silences between
The enraptured crying of shrill birds that make 
Heaven in the wood while summer dawns awake; 
And theirs the faintest winds that hush the green. 

And they are as my soul that wings its way 
Out of the starlit dimness into morn:
And they are as my tremulous being?born 
To know but this, the phantom glare of day.