Give fancy permission to range.

He dreamed that he saw, what he could but despise,
The swarm from a neighboring hive;
Which, having come out for their winter supplies,
Had made the whole garden alive.

He looked with disgust, as the proud often do,
On the diligent movements of those,
Who, keeping both present and future in view,
Improve every hour as it goes.

As the brisk little alchymists passed to and fro,
With anger the butterfly swelled;
And called them mechanics--a rabble too low
To come near the station he held.

"Away from my presence!" said he, in his sleep,
"Ye humble plebeians! nor dare
Come here with your colorless winglets to sweep
The king of this brilliant parterre!"

He thought, at these words, that together they flew,
And, facing about, made a stand;
And then, to a terrible army they grew,
And fenced him on every hand.

Like hosts of huge giants, his numberless foes
Seemed spreading to measureless size:
Their wings with a mighty expansion arose,