And soften'd sounds along the waters die: Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play.
Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers; hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.
Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? Pride answers, 'Tis for mine For me kind nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower.
The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.
Truth needs not flowers of speech.
Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Drink is the feast of reason and the flow of soul.