The daffodil that breathes perfume,
And roses of immortal bloom:
Where Earth her gifts spontaneous yields,
Nor ploughshare cuts the unfurrowed fields.
Soon as we entered these abodes
Of happy souls, of demi-gods,
The blest would all respectful rise,
And view us with admiring eyes;
Would seat us ’mid the immortal throng,
Where I, renowned for tender song,