And at last upon the close
Coming with serene repose.

O full of sweetness, crispness, ease,
Compound of lovely smallnesses,
Accomplished trifle, tell us what
To call thee, and disgrace thee not.
Worlds of fancies come about us,
Thrill within and glance without us.
Now we think that there must be
In thee some humanity,

Such a taste composed and fine
Smiles along that touch of thine.

Now we call thee heavenly rain,
For thy fresh, continued strain;
Now a hail, that on the ground
Splits into light leaps of sound;
Now the concert, neat and nice,
Of a pigmy paradise;

Sprinkles then from singing fountains;
Fairies heard on tops of mountains;
Nightingales endued with art,
Caught in listening to Mozart:
Stars that make a distant tinkling,

While their happy eyes are twinkling:

An Improvised Orchestra

From Painting by Th. Deyrolle