How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks

How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks

How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks;
And Wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks,
Like to a bonny Lass, who plays her pranks
At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,
When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks
The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream
Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.

Content of How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks [William Wordsworth's poems: Part The First - Miscellaneous Sonnets]

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Table of content of Part The First - Miscellaneous Sonnets


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