To shady spring, or cistern scooped from stone,
And flowing with cool water to the brim;
The royal virgin, seated far within
Some gorgeous recess of the kingly dome,
Plying with busy hand her dædal loom;
The wandering minstrel, slumbering fast at noon
By fountain-side or stream, or harping loud
In palace hall, and crowded market-place;
The frequent song of Hymen, saffron-robed,
Resounding through the torchlit street, what time