The Breath.
Favonius the milder breath o' th' Spring,
When proudly bearing on his softer wing
Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves
He steals, as by the Phoenix' pyre he moves,
Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense
To the next rose's blushing innocence,
But from the grateful flower, a richer scent
He back receives than he unto it lent.
Then laden with his odours' richest store,