To Leigh Hunt, Esq.

    For if we wander out in early morn，

    No wreathed incense¹ do we see upborne

    Into the east to meet the smiling day：

    No crowd of nymphs soft-voiced and young and gay，

    In woven baskets bringing ears of corn，

    Roses， and pinks， and violets， to adorn²

    The shrine³ of Flora⁴ in her early May.

    But there are left delights as high as these

    And I shall ever bless my destiny，

    That in a time when under pleasant trees

    Pan is no longer sought， I feel a free，

    A leafy luxury， seeing I could please，

    With these poor offerings， a man like thee.