And drinking bliss from every flower.
From all the gardens, all the bowers,
He cull’d the many sweets they shaded;
He eat the fruits, and smelt the flowers,
Till taste was gone, and odour faded.
Now the sun, in pomp of noon,
Rose high above the parched plains;
Alas! the boy grew languid soon,
And fever thrill’d through all his veins.
The dew forsook his baby brow,