From Wm. Blake[A]

Come, rosy angel, thy coronet donning Of starry j[=ew]els, smile upon ev'ry bed, And grant what each day-weary mortal, Labourer or lover, asketh of thee.

Smile thou on our loves, enveloping the land With dusky curtain: consider each blossom That timely upcloseth, that opens Her treasure of heavy-laden odours.

Now, while the west-wind slumbereth on the lake, Silently dost thou with delicate shimmer O'erbloom the frowning front of awful Night to a glance of unearthly silver.

No hungry wild beast rangeth in our forest, No tiger or wolf prowleth around the fold: Keep thou from our sheepcotes the tainting Invisible peril of the darkness.

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