And taught, perchance, that dream
Which the old Greek mountain dreamt upon nights divine;
To expound such wonder,
Human speech avails not,
Yet there dies no poorest weed that such a glory exhales not.
Think of all these treasures,
Matchless works and pleasures,
Every one a marvel, more than thought can say;
Then think in what bright showers
We thicken fields and bowers,