Clear drops, each morn, impearl the rose’s bloom,
And from its leaf the zephyr drinks perfume;
The dewy buds expand their lucid store:
Be this our wealth; ye damsels ask no more,
Though wise men envy, and though fools upbraid,
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The dew-drops sprinkled by the musky gale,
Are changed to essence ere they reach the dale;
The mild, blue sky a rich pavilion spreads,
Without our labor, o’er our favor’d heads.