A Morality, or the Twelve Forces of Nature Enchained
THE forest leaves dropped manna on the ground,
Pure amber trailed from ev’ry twining bough,
From flow’r to flow’r the comfortable sound
Of bees would echo mauvely, whilst the plough
Would print his dull design
On undulating hill
And from the rifted rocks
Clear honey would distil.
The heifer overfed on spicy herbs