The violet, spring’s little infant, stands
Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands;
On the fair tulip thou dost dote, 55
Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat.
With flame condensed thou dost thy jewels fix,
And solid colours in it mix:
Flora herself envies to see
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. 60
Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea,
Which open all their pores to thee,