The poem
FLOURISH greener, as ye clamber, Oh ye leaves, to seek my chamber,
Up the trellis'd vine on high! May ye swell, twin-berries tender, Juicier far,--and with more splendour
Ripen, and more speedily! O'er ye broods the sun at even As he sinks to rest, and heaven
Softly breathes into your ear All its fertilising fullness, While the moon's refreshing coolness,
Magic-laden, hovers near; And, alas! ye're watered ever
By a stream of tears that rill From mine eyes--tears ceasing never,
Tears of love that nought can still!
1775.*