Strew me a breathing bed of leaves,
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;
And while in luxury’s dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this delicious hour of joy,
Young Love shall be my goblet-boy,
Folding his little golden vest,
With cinctures, round his snowy breast;
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!