We wandered lonely in our Ferox
That pulls range, locks and shoots and kills,
When all at once we saw a camp,
A host of golden provi-dils;
Beside the gate, beneath the stars,
Approaching and orbitting in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
drones at the ready in their bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
anchored up in sprightly dance.
The feroxes engaged; but they
aligned to station, warped in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
what wealth of loot those noobs had brought:
For oft, when in my belt I mine
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the provi-dils.
Thanks for the roam Providence! Sorry you couldn’t get a fleet up.