Which emulates the peach’s bloom,[37]
All these to sing my voice is weak.
In either hand she holds a rose;
Each doth delicious odour spread:
Each with the liveliest colour glows;
One tinges morn, one eve with red.
So gentle is her soul and mind,
All painful cares and griefs she heals:
Her breath, which forms the vernal wind,
The earth with vegetation fills.