The early Year's fast-flying vapours stray

In shadowing trains across the orb of day: And we, poor Insects of a few short hours, Deem it a world of Gloom. Were it not better hope a nobler doom, Proud to believe that with more active powers On rapid many-coloured wing We thro' one bright perpetual Spring Shall hover round the fruits and flowers, Screen'd by those clouds and cherish'd by those showers!

1796.