Celia Singing.
Roses in breathing forth their scent,
Or stars their borrowed ornament;
Nymphs in the wat'ry sphere that move,
Or Angels in their orbs above;
The wingéd chariot of the light,
Or the slow silent wheels of night;
The shade, which from the swifter sun
Doth in a circular motion run;
Or souls that their eternal rest do keep,