Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,
And none can tell how from so small a centre come such sweet,
Forgetting that within that centre Eternity expands
Its ever-during doors, that Og and Anak fiercely guard.
First, ere the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms, 
Joy even to tears, which the sun rising dries : first the Wild Thyme 
And Meadowsweet, downy and soft, waving among the reeds, 
Light springing on the air, lead the sweet dance ; they wake 
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the oak, the flaunting beauty 
Revels along upon the wind ; the White-thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes ; listening, the Rose still sleeps --
None dare to wake her ; soon she bursts her crimson-curtained bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty. Every Flower, 
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation, 
The Jonquil, the mild Lily opes her heavens ; every Tree 
And Flower and Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable dance, 
Yet all in order sweet and lovely. Men are sick with love!