O'RE the smooth enameld green

    Where no print of step hath been

    Follow me as I sing

    And touch the warbled string.

    Under the shady roof

    Of branching Elm Star-proof

    Follow me

    I will bring you where she sits

    Clad in splendor as befits

    Her deity.

    Such a rural Queen

    All Arcadia hath not seen.