And the flowers I beheld · all looked and smelt so sweet,
That the senses and the soul · they seemed alike to greet;
While on every side ran fountains · through all this glad retreat,
Which in winter kindly warmth supplied, · yet tempered summer’s heat.
And of rich and goodly trees · there grew a boundless maze,
Granada’s apples bright, · and figs of golden rays,
And many other fruits, · beyond my skill to praise;
But none that turneth sour, · and none that e’er decays.
The freshness of that meadow, · the sweetness of its flowers,
The dewy shadows of the trees, · that fell like cooling showers,