“To Heav’n remov’d, where first it grew, there grows,
“And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life;
“And where the river of bliss, thro’ midst of Heav’n,
“Rolls o’er Elysian flow’rs her amber stream:
“With these, that never fade, the spirits elect
“Bind their resplendent locks, inwreath’d with beams.”
Milton’s Paradise Lost.
Say, lovely fair! whene’er you rove,
Along the flow’r-enamell’d vale,