Each day on a fresh tide of pleasure we swim.
But how gay in the country! what summer delight
To be waiting for winter from morning to night!
Then the fret of impatience gives exquisite glee
To relish the sweet rural subjects we see.
In town we’ve no use for the skies overhead,
For when the sun rises then we go to bed;
And as to that old-fashion’d virgin the moon;
She shines out of season, like satin in June.
In the country these planets delightfully glare