Now it is more noble to sit like Jove than to fly like Mercury - let us not therefore go hurrying about and collecting honey, bee-like buzzing here and there impatiently from a knowledge of what is to be aimed at; but let us open our leaves like a flower and be passive and receptive - budding patiently under the eye of Apollo and taking hints from every noble insect that favours us with a visit - sap will be given us for meat and dew for drink.  was led into these thoughts, my dear Reynolds, by the beauty of the morning operating on a sense of Idleness - I have not read any books - the Morning said I was right - I had no idea but of the morning, and the thrush said I was right - seeming to say,

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, 
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist, 
And the black elm-tops 'mong the freezing stars, 
To thee the Spring will be a harvest-time. 
O thou, whose only book has been the light 
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on 
Night after night when Phoebus was away, 
To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn. 
O fret not after knowledge - I have none, 
And yet my song comes native with the warmth. 
O fret not after knowledge - I have none, 
And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens 
At thought of idleness cannot be idle, 
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.

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