o thou with dewy locks who lookest down
through the clear windows of the morning turn
thine angel eyes upon our western isle
which in full choir hails thy approach o spring
the hills tell one another and the listening
valleys hear all our longing eyes are turn'd
up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
and let thy holy feet visit our clime
come o'er the eastern hills and let our winds
kiss thy perfumed garments let us taste