36
A time to sicken and to swoon,
When Science reaches forth her arms
To feel from world to world, and charms
Her secret from the latest moon?'
Behold, ye speak an idle thing:
Ye never knew the sacred dust:
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing:
And unto one her note is gay,
For now her little ones have ranged;
And unto one her note is changed,
Because her brood is stol'n away.
