Clear had the day been from the dawn,
All chequer'd was the sky,
Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn
Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye.

The wind had no more strength than this,
That leisurely it blew,
To make one leaf the next to kiss
That closely by it grew.

The rills, that on the pebbles play’d,
Might now be heard at will;
This world the only music made,
Else everything was still.

 ...