I

Here let the bliss of summer and her night Be on my heart as wide and pure as heaven; Now while o’er earth the tide of young delight Brims to the full, calm’d by the wizard Seven, And their high mistress, yon enchanted Moon; The air is faint, yet fresh as primrose buds, And dim with weft of honey-colour’d beams, A bride-robe for the new espousèd June, Who lies white-limbed among her flowers, nor dreams, Such a divine content her being floods.