A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy-formed and many-coloured things,

Who worship him with notes more sweet than words,[kq]

And innocently open their glad wings,

Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs,

And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend

Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings

The swiftest thought of Beauty, here extend

Mingling—and made by Love—unto one mighty end.