Invitation to a Pleasant Fountain

Cold the fountain is, no wave More salubrious, green herbs pave All its margin; its thick roof— Leaves and boughs—is sunshine proof; No where does the Zephyr blow Half so pleasantly, and now Titan on his mid-day tower Scorches forest, field, and flower; Rest thee, Traveller, rest thy feet, Thou art fainting with the heat, And canst walk no farther! here, In this babbling fountain clear, Thou may'st slake thy thirst, beneath These green branches; in the breath Of the fresh breeze, dry the dews Off thy throbbing brows, and lose All thy languor on the bed Gadding thyme and mosses spread.