Her head with a chaplet was dress’d,
Of May-flow’rs and cowslips combin’d,
A garland hung over her breast,
With blue-bells and vi’lets entwin’d;
Her garment, in negligent flow,
Her graces all artless display’d—
’Twas dipp’d in the tint of the bow
That Iris in April had made.
New flowrets her footsteps bestrew’d,
For all was enchantment around,