Her short performance was no sooner tried,
  When she I sought, the nightingale, replied: 
  So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,
  That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung;
  And I so ravish’d with her heavenly note,
  I stood entranced, and had no room for thought,
  But all o’er-power’d with ecstasy of bliss, 120
  Was in a pleasing dream of paradise. 
  At length I waked, and looking round the bower,
  Search’d every tree, and pry’d on every flower,
  If any where by chance I might espy
  The rural poet of the melody;
  For still methought she sung not far away: 
  At last I found her on a laurel spray. 
  Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight,
  Full in a line, against her opposite;
  Where stood with eglantine the laurel twined; 130
  And both their native sweets were well conjoin’d.

    On the green bank I sat, and listen’d long;
  (Sitting was more convenient for the song): 
  Nor till her lay was ended could I move,
  But wish’d to dwell for ever in the grove. 
  Only methought the time too swiftly pass’d,
  And every note I fear’d would be the last. 
  My sight and smell, and hearing were employ’d,
  And all three senses in full gust enjoy’d. 
  And what alone did all the rest surpass, 140
  The sweet possession of the fairy place;
  Single, and conscious to myself alone
  Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown: 
  Pleasures which nowhere else were to be found,
  And all Elysium in a spot of ground.

    Thus while I sat intent to see and hear,
  And drew perfumes of more than vital air,
  All suddenly I heard the approaching sound
  Of vocal music on the enchanted ground: 
  A host of saints it seem’d, so full the quire; 150
  As if the bless’d above did all conspire
  To join their voices, and neglect the lyre. 
  At length there issued from the grove behind
  A fair assembly of the female kind: 
  A train less fair, as ancient fathers tell,
  Seduced the sons of heaven to rebel. 
  I pass their form, and every charming grace,
  Less than an angel would their worth debase: 
  But their attire, like liveries of a kind,
  All rich and rare, is fresh within my mind. 160
  In velvet white as snow the troop was gown’d,
  The seams with sparkling emeralds set around;
  Their hoods and sleeves the same; and purfled o’er
  With diamonds, pearls, and all the shining store
  Of eastern pomp:  their long descending train,
  With rubies edged, and sapphires, swept the plain: 
  High on their heads, with jewels richly set,
  Each lady wore a radiant coronet. 
  Beneath the circles, all the quire was graced
  With chaplets green on their fair foreheads placed:  170