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Of Hesperus, and his daughters three,
Along the crispéd shades and bowers
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours,
There eternal Summer dwells,
And west winds, with musky wing,
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled 52 scarf can shew,
And drenches with Elysian dew
(List, mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted side
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done ; I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.
Mortals, that would follow me,
Love Virtue; she alone is free:
Heaven itself would stoop to her.