From Comus:  Fourth Selection

To the Ocean now I fly,

And those happy climes that ly

Where day never shuts his eye,

Up in the broad fields of the sky:

There I suck the liquid ayr

All amidst the Gardens fair

Of Hesperus, and his daughters three

That sing about the golden tree:

Along the crispéd shades and bowres

Revels the spruce and jocond Spring,

The Graces, and the rosie-boosom'd Howres,

Thither all their bounties bring,

That there eternal Summer dwels,

And West winds, with musky wing

About the cedar'n alleys fling

Nard, and Cassia's balmy smels.

Iris there with humid bow,

Waters the odorous banks that blow

Flowers of more mingled hew

Than her purfl'd scarf can shew,

And drenches with Elysian dew

(List mortals, if your ears be true)

Beds of Hyacinth, and roses

Where young Adonis oft reposes,

Waxing well of his deep wound

In slumber soft, and on the ground

Sadly sits th' Assyrian Queen;

But far above in spangled sheen

Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc't,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't

After her wandring labours long,

Till free consent the gods among

Make her his eternal Bride,

And from her fair unspotted side

Two blissful twins are to be born,

Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly don,

I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earths end,

Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,

And from thence can soar as soon

To the corners of the Moon.

Mortals that would follow me,

Love vertue, she alone is free.