BY NINON.
———
When he who has trod o’er a desert of sand,
In the sun’s scorching fervor all fiercely that glows,
Sees far in the distance some fair fertile land,
As if ’twere an island of Eden that rose.
Where fountains all sparkling invite him to stay,
And quaff the bright waters that plenteously spring;
Oh, how he exalts in the breeze’s wild play,
That bears the pure spirit of health on its wings.