Unmark’d by Time, uncircumscrib’d by Space.
XI.
Not half so sweet was that delightsome dale,
Which to my waking view appear’d so bright;
For here did never-ceasing suns prevail,
With mildest sweetness temp’ring heav’nly light.
XII.
Spring breath’d eternal glories o’er the land:
And gentlest winds, o’er fragrant lawns that blow,
Nurs’d beauteous buds unset by mortal hand,