Kissing, all thrilled with joy, thy modest face.
About thee float and glow
Rare insects, hovering low,
And round thee glance thin streams of delicate grass,
Plashing their odors on thee as they pass.
The sheen of brilliant wings
Songs of shy, flitting things,
The low, mysterious melodies that thrill
Through every summer wood, thy sweet life fill.
Oh bloom! all joy is thine,