In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the underwood,
Sweet murmuring; methought the shrill-tongu'd thrush
Mended his song of love, the sooty blackbird
Mellowed his pipe and soften'd every note,
The eglantine smell'd sweeter and the rose
Assum'd a dye more deep, whilst ev'ry flower