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| SEE, how the orient dew, | |
| Shed from the bosom of the morn | |
| Into the blowing roses, | |
| (Yet careless of its mansion new, | |
| For the clear region where ’twas born,) | 5 |
| Round in itself incloses; | |
| And, in its little globe’s extent, | |
| Frames, as it can, its native element. | |
| How it the purple flower does slight, | |
| Scarce touching where it lies; | 10 |
| But gazing back upon the skies, | |
| Shines with a mournful light, | |
| Like its own tear, | |
| Because so long divided from the sphere. | |
| Restless it rolls, and unsecure, | 15 |
| Trembling, lest it grow impure; | |
| Till the warm sun pity its pain, | |
| And to the skies exhale it back again. | |
| So the soul, that drop, that ray | |
| Of the clear fountain of eternal day, | 20 |
| (Could it within the human flower be seen,) | |
| Remembering still its former height, | |
| Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green | |
| And, recollecting its own light, | |
| Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express | 25 |
| The greater heaven in an heaven less. | |
| In how coy a figure wound, | |
| Every way it turns away; | |
| So the world-excluding round, | |
| Yet receiving in the day; | 30 |
| Dark beneath, but bright above, | |
| Here disdaining, there in love. | |
| How loose and easy hence to go; | |
| How girt and ready to ascend; | |
| Moving but on a point below, | 35 |
| It all about does upwards bend. | |
| Such did the manna’s sacred dew distil; | |
| White and entire, though congealed and chill; | |
| Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run | |
| Into the glories of the almighty sun. | 40 |
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