Sootheth like hope’s fresh scent of loveliness?
Lovely, O nightingale, is thy lament;
Ever to listening love thy plaint is dear;
In the fond thought of love thy life is spent.
Though in this world joy’s goal is but a name,
Fair is thy fadeless hope, blest wanderer,
Beauteous its gentle fire & flickering flame.
From the pure lily heard I this clear song:
‘Happy their peaceful life who work no wrong;
Sweet idle flowers, whom heav’n’s sweet airs do kiss;