Thy choir of birds about thee play,
And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day.
All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes, 45
Is but thy several liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestowest,
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest.
A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;
A crown of studded gold thou bear’st; 50
The virgin lilies, in their white,
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.