Against the birth of May: and, vested so,
Thou dost appear more gracefully array’d
Than Fashion’s worshippers, whose gaudy shows,
Fantastical as are a sick man’s dreams,
From vanity to costly vanity
Change ofter than the moon. Thy comely dress,
From sad to gay returning with the year,
Shall grace thee still till Nature’s self shall change.
These are the beauties of thy woodland scene
At each return of spring: yet some[1] delight