MUSIC. THE god of music dwelleth out of doors. To smooth autumnal pipes he moves his feet, INSULATION. So goes the world beneath thy tranquil eyes Just aims, and gentle thoughts, and honor without stain. DESERT OR GARDEN? ALONE; but not like that blind banished king That he might build thereof a narrow isle An upland realm, not stagnant waste, my share; But friends, if whence ye come, in wood or mead Rise sweet and wholesome growths, bring slip and seed, That I may set a garden fresh and fair. TO ONE COMING. I KNOW this pleasant breather from the south, WINTER LEAFAGE. EACH year I mark one lone outstanding tree, |