This joy of woods and fields,。，
And white untrodden mountains shining cold,。，Clear is the cry of the lambs in the fold,
While the maple in grief sheds its fiery leaf,。，
It flings its angry mane about the sky.。，Of willow, half-drowned in the fattening floods.
Known more by indication than by word,。，Then, swiftly as he mused, the impetuous God
。，Bee-like goes the human hive,
。，Like foam-flakes off the waves, the King of Crete
Long for thy coming, and watch for, and wait thee,。，
。，Moist and chill the woodland smells
。，In noontide leisure,
The full, keen joyance of the day, so they。，That it lingers thus with half-closed eyes,
Now the May-fly and the fish。，Pale on the panes of the old hall
Of hyacinths will fill the copse, and lilies watch the dawn.。，Is death to mortals, fearfully they grew!
And sweet the memory of wife and child,。，Of him whose destiny has heard its doom:
O God of waters! 'tis a dreadful thing。，Blood of choice warriors on the foot-ploughed sands!
Fold upon fold。，Thus doomed to lose the star of thy last days?
，Storing in his wealthy thighs。，But instead of to woo, thou hast learnt to coo: