Sweet Is The Breath Of Vernal Shower,/

Some Village Hampden, That With Dauntless Breast The Little Tyrant Of His Fields Withstood, Some Mute Inglorious Milton Here May Rest, Some Cromwell Guiltless Of His Country's Blood.

Thought Would Destroy Their Paradise.

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.

Each In His Narrow Cell Forever Laid, The Rude Forefathers Of The Hamlet Sleep.

The Meanest Flowret Of The Vale, / The Simplest Note That Swells The Gale, / The Common Sun, The Air, And Skies, / To Him Are Opening Paradise.