Spread the golden wings and plant rosette in streets
Fragrance made the streets as an oasis
Roam, sits, and made it as a bed
The seventh heaven's bed, o bed! o bed!
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.