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Eddying round and round they sinkSoftly, slowly: one might think,From the motions that are made,Every little leaf convey'dSylph or Faery hither tending,To this lower world descending,Each invisible and mute,In his wavering parachute.———But the Kitten, how she starts,Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts;First at one and then it's fellow.Just as light and just as yellow;There are many now—now one—Now they stop; and there are none—What intenseness of desireIn her upward eye of fire!With a tiger-leap half wayNow she meets the coming prey,
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