Here, out of sight and out of mind
Of envious Labour, unrefined,
   Here, where no melancholy sound
   Disturbs the joy of stillness round,
We'll drink a draught of beauty to mankind.

Who knows how many dreams are fled,
And hopes resolved, and fancies dead,
   How much is planned, how much begun,
   The all attempted, little done,
Since thy short hour of happiness is sped?

O rise, that bloomest here alone,
So short, so soon, so early blown,
   Thou flowering passion, full and free,
   How near my soul resembles thee
In all but meekness, that is still thine own!

For, brooding in her inmost cell
When the loud winds of passion swell
   In unrelenting rage, whilst thou
   Dost slumber sweetly on the bough
My captive soul will riot and rebel.

Sweet charm of Nature, loveliest one,
Joint passion of the wind and sun,
   Though mortal tears thy beauty slain,
   They precious soul revives again!
So when old life is ended, new's begun.