​Romance, who loves to nod and sing

With drowsy head and folded wing

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been—most familiar bird—

Taught me my alphabet to say,

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky;

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings,

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away—forbidden things—

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

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