Knows the hour is nearing
That shall bring the golden presence of the well-loved Queen.
Hark! at last the silver trill
Of a lute is sounding—
Happy August, purple-clad, appears with all her train.
Sudden sweet the branches fill;
Every heart is bounding;
August comes, the kindly nurse of her who is to reign!
And now, with proud and valiant gait,
An hundred centaurs come.