Oft have I watched the myriad lovely flowers,
In spring and summer, in the woods and meads,
And thought they clasped their tiny hands in love,
Then all bowed low their painted heads in love,
To the great lord of light who smiled on them.
Oft have I watched the myriad forest leaves,
Trembling as if with some sweet thought of love,
Till love's sweet incense went up from all these,
To the bright orb who smiled bright love on them:
And then a thousand birds began to sing