And wring up above them their smocks and socks,
And clash their pails and pannikins, Ho!
And titter and splash, and splatter and splutter,
Then flying a-thwart them, flaunt, in a flutter,
Oho! hyüeeps, hyüeèps, Oho!
Zounds! and Zephyr! and how they go !
Swoop and up, hyüeèps! Oho!
A league, hyüeeps! and up, Oho!
And over the terrace, and over the pond,
The caged walks, and the lawns beyond,
A-cooing, a-cooing, and love and ditties,
A-flapping and flying. And oh ! my pretties!
Indeed your loss were worst of pities!
Ho! hyüeèps! hyüeèps! hyüeèps!
Swoop, and up, to the tips of the air,
Down, and over the gallery stair,
Crowding and crowding here-and there-
I' the crimson streak of the distant sea
The great sun sinks, like a red ruby!
My lady rose, and like the cloud
That swoons along some wooing wind,
She glided to the gallery's end,
Where steps on steps descend, descend,
And yet descend, and long'd and lined
The long way down, by carved a crowd
Of gods and girls, and all embough'd
With boxen shrubs, and glittering eke
With fountain tanks that jar each dye
And mirror'd changes of the sky
All shot with one long crimson reek
On bronze and blue disharmony;
And round the rims, with shrilling shriek
The twinkling peacocks all, that tend
From terrace flight to terrace flight,
Are fluttering in the rosy light,
Where balustrade and buttress bend,
And arches all the walled height
Rise from the pleasaunce, dizzying high,
Up to the gallery 'gainst the sky;
And all so fanciful and light,
A marvel more than masonry.
The pigeons swarm up thick as bees,
They flap and flutter everywhere,
Amid the fruited orange-trees.
Around her shoulders, round her head,
They cling along the crimson eaves,
And squirrels 'mid the traceries
And column-heads in carven leaves
Of great trefoil and strawberries,
And fig-boughs tangled tight in sheaves.
My lady stands at top the stair,
Against the purples of the sky;
The dim stars tremble here and there,
The laughters of all nights repair
To join the loves in either eye.
And round her like elysian mist
O'er limbs too lovely to be kissed,
Just dimly hinted, oh! so fair,
Flutters her rosy drapery.
She scatters out the golden grain
Above, below, and everywhere,
And long a-down the lowest stair,
And veer'd above the chapel-vane,
To left and right, a-down again,
Again and glittering to the plain,
And leagues a-lounging to the plain,
And fading, sweeps into the air,
Till all around is largess lain,
And yet runs down in golden rain,
All thick with pigeons struggling loud, That coo and flap and squeeze and scold,
And turn and tumble, crowd and crowd,
Around and around her swept and roll'd;
And pitter-patter, Oh! my Sweet,
The corn-gems twinkle to her feet,
And twinkle, tinkle to her feet,
And glitter, flitter, flutter fleet,
Like Danaë in her shower of gold.
My lady calls them, two by two;
(Her voice is music, as you know!) They flutter half the gallery through, Amid the myrtles, rose, and yew, That sweeten through the twilit blue Of arch and shadow light and low, The shot-grey sky is cleaving to.
My lady holds the golden gate,
And bids her pretties all therein; They bill her hand, their mirth abate, And flutter, flitter, flutter in.
My lady locks the golden door,
"And now, my pets, your vespers sing;
And now again, and yet once more,
Then pair and perch for slumbering.”
She lays her lips along the bars;
The twilight grows a deeper dye.
The purple night gets thick with stars,
The gall'ry deepens in the sky,
"And now, my pets, your compline sing,
And now to sleep, remembering
The freshest breath the dawn can bring
Must wake me with your carolling."
And now a night-wind steals thereby,
A harmony of every sigh
The sweet souls linger on and die,
From flowers grown faint with blossoming.
"And now, my pretty ones, good-bye."
My lady sleeps in the northern tower,
That stands up stark against the night;
On the lofty dial the sleep-crazed hour
Still creeps along, for the moon is bright.
Above the dial jut out great rings
Of carven cactus-wreaths in flower;
And furlongs yet above, to right,
Against a cornice a griffin clings,
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