As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert; when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose; ’twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew As is the wand that Queen Titania wields. And, as I feasted on its fragrancy, I thought the garden-rose it far excell’d: But when, O Wells! 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.