O’ small-feac’d flow’r that now does bloom
To stud wi’ white the shallow Frome,
An’ leave the clote to spread his flow’r
On darksome pools o’ stwoneless Stour,
When sof’ly-rizen airs do cool
The water in the sheenen pool,
The beds o’ snow-white buds do gleam
So feair upon the sky-blue stream,
As whitest clouds, a-hangen high
Avore the blueness of the sky