Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land;
Where the dark poppy flourish’d on the dry
And sterile soil, and mock’d the thin-set rye.
“How lovely this!” the rapt Orlando said;
“With what delight is labouring man repaid!
The very lane has sweets that all admire,
The rambling suckling, and the vigorous brier;
See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way,
Where dew-press’d yet the dog-rose bends the spray;
Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks adorn,