O sound to rout the brood of cares,
⁠The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
⁠The gust that round the garden flew,
And tumbled half the mellowing pears!

O bliss, when all in circle drawn
⁠About him, heart and ear were fed
⁠To hear him, as he lay and read
The Tuscan poets on the lawn:

Or in the all-golden afternoon
⁠A guest, or happy sister, sung,
⁠Or here she brought the harp and flung
A ballad to the brightening moon:

Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
⁠Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
⁠And break the livelong summer day
With banquet in the distant woods;

Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
⁠Discuss'd the books to love or hate,
⁠Or touch'd the changes of the state,
Or threaded some Socratic dream;