Now by the rosy mildness sweet,
Of which when youthful spring awakes,
From thy abundance amply she partakes,
What time the silk-plum'd zephyrs meet
In Saba's groves, to kiss the bending blooms
With balmy lips, and wanton in perfumes:
And by the ripened, redolent grace,
When summer in the Persian fields
To sober-seeming Autumn yields
Her treasures on the loaded sprays,
The sky-rob'd plum, the purple vine,
The velvet peach, and damask nectarine;
While Plenty, waving her Hesperian bough,
Gladdens Pomona with the golden show.