Palinode To The Foregoing.

Thus sung I in these grounds erewhile, perchance Tempted by sudden aptitude of words Into that measure which least pleaseth me, Sacred to Satire and unquiet thought. Forgive me, shades; forgive me, thou calm lake Of spreading water, quietly asleep Between thy fringing woods: Man is not less Than Nature holy; and these records fair Of striving after likeness to the forms Of natural beauty may not be despised By man, as them imperfect; rather stored Within the patient spirit, if perhaps The slow--learnt lesson of obeying God By them be furthered; and the complete soul Pass from the fretful crowd of hopes and fears Into her silent oratory, where, With calm submission and unshaken trust, She may lay out herself to imitate All forms of beauty spiritual, and make A pleasure--ground within, for angels fit, And Him whose voice was heard among the trees, Walking in Eden in the cool of the day.