As late I rambled¹ in the happy fields，

    What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew

    From his lush clover covert；-when anew

    Adventurous² knights³ take up their dinted shields；

    I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields，

    A fresh-blown musk-rose； 'twas the first that threw

    Its sweets upon the summer： graceful⁴ it grew

    As is the wand that queen Titania wields⁵.

    And， as I feasted on its fragrancy，

    I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd；

    But when， O Wells！ thy roses came to me，

    My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd：

    Soft voices had they， that with tender plea

    Whisper'd of peace， and truth， and friendliness⁶ unquell'd.