The poem
The sweets of evening charm the mind, Sick of the sultry day; The body then no more confin'd, But exercise with freedom join'd, When Phoebus sheathes his ray.
While all-serene the summer moon Sends glances thro' the trees, And Philomel begins her tune,. And Asteria too shall help her soon With voice of skillful ease.
A nosegay, every thing that grows, And music, every sound To lull the sun to his repose; The skies are colour'd like the rose With lively streaks around.
Of all the changes rung by time None half so sweet appear, As those when thoughts themselves sublime, And with superior natures chime In fancy's highest sphere.