II.—Visions.
Here I am, slave of visions. When noon heat1
Strikes the red walls, and their environ’d air2
Lies steep’d in sun ; when not a creature dare3
Affront the fervour, from my dim retreat4
Where is cool shadow, and a beechen seat,5
With chin on palm, and wide-set eyes I stare,6
Beyond the liquid quiver and the glare,7
Upon fair shapes that move on silent feet.8
Those three strait-robed, and speechless as they pass,9
Come often, touch the lute, nor heed me more10
Than birds or shadows do : that naked child11
Is surely Psyche slumbering in deep grass ;12
And here, ill chance ! in leaps the sylvan wild13
Munching a russet apple to the core.14