Summer on the Lakes

Summer days of busy leisure,Long summer days of dear-bought pleasure,You have done your teaching well;Had the scholar means to tellHow grew the vine of bitter-sweet,What made the path for truant feet,Winter nights would quickly pass,Gazing on the magic glassO'er which the new-world shadows pass;But, in fault of wizard spell,Moderns their tale can only tellIn dull words, with a poor reedBreaking at each time of need.But those to whom a hint sufficesMottoes find for all devices,See the knights behind their shields,Through dried grasses, blooming fields.

Some dried grass-tufts from the wide flowery plain,A muscle shell from the lone fairy shore,Some antlers from tall woods which never moreTo the wild deer a safe retreat can yield,An eagle's feather which adorned a Brave,Well-nigh the last of his despairing band,For such slight gifts wilt thou extend thy handWhen weary hours a brief refreshment crave?I give you what I can, not what I would,If my small drinking-cup would hold a flood,As Scandinavia sung those must containWith which the giants gods may entertain;In our dwarf day we drain few drops, and soon must thirst again.