Once upon noontide; in warm month; of summer,
As a little known, bard, I was in my wonder.
Native town, woking quietly in an orange tree
My mind was so toiling; and the heart free.
Like early bird; a new and excited! wave
Came over hovering; from an enclave.
Methought, It be a divine-wind
How sweet it is, and often so kind,
I felt a merry joy, It might soothe, My muscle.
And then, I heard about Me; a straw rustle.
Later, she went to visit My father's grave.
And so, glowed her sleek wing,
under rosy trave,
A young Mote; hung upon the sweet wave.
After sucking soft pollen; of peruvian lily,
Then soon fleed; by My face vertically.
Odorous indeed, is you the green mead,
Aha, lilies you are always slow; and weed
Makes haste, ah, wild herbs you have a grace.
While the shade return, I did unbrace.
My headband, a sweet slumber seem to take,
My tiredness away, a coolness arouse like snowflake.
All the beauty was awake, lo,
I' lay to asleep,
O! dear God, did you ever lay to asleep?
How beautifuly you do; all things unkeep....