All these, condensed in one pernicious gas
By Noon’s hot efflux and the reeking Night,
Thy filtering breezes make as fresh and sweet
As infant slumbers; pure as the virgin’s breath
Whispering her first love in the eager ear
Of her heart’s chosen.
On this climbing hill,
While, lost in ecstacy, I stand and gaze
On the fresh beauties of a world disrobed,
How does thy searching breath, oh, infant Day!