For it was nimbler much than Hindes,
And trod as if on the Four Winds.
I have a Garden of my own,
But so with Roses over-grown,
And Lillies, that you would it guess
To be a little Wilderness;
And all the Spring Time of the Year
It only lovèd to be there.
Among the Beds of Lillies I
Have sought it oft, where it should lye;