Is hung with Apples all of ruddy Gold,
        Hesperian Fruit! and beautifully high,
        Extends its Branches to the Sky;
        So does my Love the Virgin’s Eyes invite: 
        ’Tis he alone can fix their wand’ring Sight,
        [Among [4]] ten thousand eminently bright.

  III.  Beneath this pleasing Shade
        My weaned Limbs at Ease I laid,
        And on his fragrant Boughs reclined my Head. 
        I pull’d the Golden Fruit with eager haste;
        Sweet was the Fruit, and pleasing to the Taste: 
        With sparkling Wine he crown’d the Bowl,
        With gentle Ecstacies he fill’d my Soul;
        Joyous we sate beneath the shady Grove,
        And o’er my Head he hung the Banners of his Love.

  IV.  I faint; I die! my labouring Breast
        Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest: 
        I feel the Fire possess my Heart,
        And pain conveyed to every Part. 
        Thro’ all my Veins the Passion flies,
        My feeble Soul forsakes its Place,
        A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,
        And Paleness dwells upon my Face;
        Oh! let my Love with pow’rful Odours stay
        My fainting lovesick Soul that dies away;
        One Hand beneath me let him place,
        With t’other press me in a chaste Embrace.

  V. I charge you, Nymphs of Sion, as you go
        Arm’d with the sounding Quiver and the Bow,
        Whilst thro’ the lonesome Woods you rove,
        You ne’er disturb my sleeping Love,
        Be only gentle Zephyrs there,
        With downy Wings to fan the Air;
        Let sacred Silence dwell around,
        To keep off each intruding Sound: 
        And when the balmy Slumber leaves his Eyes,
        May he to Joys, unknown till then, arise.

  VI.  But see! he comes! with what majestick Gate
        He onward bears his lovely State! 
        Now thro’ the Lattice he appears,
        With softest Words dispels my Fears,
        Arise, my Fair-One, and receive
        All the Pleasures Love can give. 
        For now the sullen Winters past,
        No more we fear the Northern Blast: 
        No Storms nor threatning Clouds appear,
        No falling Rains deform the Year. 
        My Love admits of no delay,
        Arise, my Fair, and come away.

  VII.  Already, see! the teeming Earth
        Brings forth the Flow’rs, her beauteous Birth. 
        The Dews, and soft-descending Showers,
        Nurse the new-born tender Flow’rs. 
        Hark! the Birds melodious sing,
        And sweetly usher in the Spring. 
        Close by his Fellow sits the Dove,
        And billing whispers her his Love. 
        The spreading Vines with Blossoms swell,
        Diffusing round a grateful Smell,
        Arise, my Fair-One, and receive
        All the Blessings Love can give: 
        For Love admits of no delay,
        Arise, my Fair, and come away.