As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose;’twas the first that threw
It’s sweets upon the summer
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excell’d:
But when thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spell’d:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whisper’d of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell’d.

John Keats