Which through the healthy air their fragrance yield!
The crowfoot, daisie, cowslip’s golden hue,
The dandelion, violet’s lovely blue.
How many more their modest graces hide
In the hedge-bottom, or the thicket’s side!
The primrose, harebell, with the starwort fair,
And low ground-ivy’s bloom perfume the air.
These and each painted form that decks the land,
Blend their unrival’d tinctures, and confess thy hand.
The feather’d tribes to thee their voices raise,