‘O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o’erfired;
Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
revives the milked cow, & tames the fire-breathing steed.
WB