And more delicious than ’s the earliest streak
The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek.
With jealous grace her idle ears to please,
A music entered, making passion fain:
Three nightingales sat singing in the trees,
And praised the Goddess for the fallen rain;
Which yet their unseen motions did arouse,
Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs.
And o’er the treetops, scattered in mid air,
The exhausted clouds, laden with crimson light,