There shall he view, without a film to hide,
Delicious pastures, streams that softly glide,
Groves clothed in living greenness, filled with plumes
Bright as the dawn, and various as the blooms
With which the early Summer decks his bowers—
Gems all in motion, life-invested flowers.
Fairer than those, albeit surpassing fair,
His pencil painted with a skill so rare
That they, whose feet have never trod the far
And wondrous places where such creatures are,