The innumerable dance

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!