And trees with hospitable arms inclose.
If sleep the stagnant pools, or currents flow,
Huge stones and willows 'mid the water throw;
That if a breeze across their passage sweep,
And headlong drive the loiterer to the deep,
On many a bridge the bee may safely stand,
And his wet plumes to summer suns expand.
There all her sweets let savory exhale,
Thyme breathe her soul of fragrance on the gale
In dulcet streams her roots green casia lave,