Our fav’rite jasmine grew, and sat us down
To twine a wreath each in the other’s hair;
Or tax’d our skill to form a golden crown,
Forgetful that the sun would soon embrown
Our city faces with his kisses rude!
Nor cared we for the dull and dusty town,
When we could wander through the lonely wood,
And feel in all their power the sweets of sisterhood.
VII.
I’m never weary of a country life,