Classic Poem

Such pleasure as the teeming earth
Doth take in easy nature's birth,
When she puts forth the life of everything:
And in a dew of sweetest rain,
She lies delivered without pain,
Of the prime beauty of the year, the spring.
The rivers in their shores do run;
The clouds rack clear before the sun,
The rudest winds obey the calmest air:
Rare plants from every bank to rise,
And every plant the sense surprise,
Because the order of the whole is fair!
The very verdure of her nest,
Wherein she sits so richly dressed,
As all the wealth of season, there was spread;
Doth show, the Graces, and the Hours
Have multiplied their arts, and powers,
In making soft her aromatic bed.
Such joys, such sweets doth your return
Bring all your friends (fair lord) that burn
With love, to hear your modesty relate,
The business of your blooming wit,
With all the fruit shall follow it,
Both to the honour of the king and state.
O how will then our court be pleased,
To see great Charles of travail eased,
When he beholds a graft of his own hand,
Shoot up an olive, fruitful fair,
To be a shadow to his heir,
And both a strength, and beauty to his land!