In the rich garden plac’d.
II.
Thence, fann’d by many a gentle gale,
Full oft her scent is borne;
Both when the ev’ning shades prevail,
And at the rise of morn.
III.
At noon, when ev’n without her aid
The flow’rs all droop’d around;
Clytie, bright Phœbus’ love-sick maid,