Now all the glories of the Summer shine;

And Nature, as if drunk with olden wine,

Is laughing in its mirth!

And melodies are heard

From far and near, and sounds that stir the heart,

Sweeter than fancy dreams of, when slow Art

To rival them has erred.

All things become more pure

And hallowed to the view: the very flowers

Seem smiling in a world more rich than ours—