Page:The Midsummer Night.djvu/32

 Opened its virgin bud, unsunned and pure.

Bring odorous Thyme, and Lilies, sweet and pale

Gleaming by moonlight.—Hasten, and return

Ere Time's quick pulse has numbered many beats.

Off! through the wood,

With the speed of light,

We fly to gather

The buds of night.

Their scent we'll bear,

Through the dewy air,

Thither, and back in an instant's flight.

Upon his brow I'll press their balmy juice,

And consecrate him to the minstrel art.

Fly like a moonbeam, Puck! outstrip the wind!

Far to the north there lies a moss-grown rock