Springs through the humble grass an humble flow’r,
Her stature little and her raiment poor.
If truth in ancient poems is convey’d,
This modest flower was once a charming maid,
Her name Ianthis, of Diana’s train,
The brightest nymph that ever graced a plain;
Whom (while Pherean herds the virgin fed)
Apollo saw, and courted to his bed;
But, lov’d in vain, the frighted virgin fled
To woods herself and her complaints she bore