That in the roses take delight!
And see a cloud stays in the blue
Like an angel still and bright.
The gentle sky is spread like silk,
And, Nurse, the moon doth languish there,
As if it were a perfect jewel
In the morning's soft-spun hair.
The greyness of the distant hills
Is silvered in the lucid East,
See, now the sheeny-plumèd cock