First e'er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms,
Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dries; first the Wild Thyme
And Meadow-sweet downy & soft, waving among the reeds,
Light springing on air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; The flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the Wind; the Whitethorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes: listening, the Rose still sleeps.
None dare to wake her: soon she bursts her crimson curtain'd bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty: every Flower:
The Pink, the Jassamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,
The Jonquil, the mild Lilly, opes her heavens! every Tree
And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance,
Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love!
Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.