I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, 
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. 
I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, 
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. 
I write of youth, of love, and have access 
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. 
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece 
Of balm, of oil, of spice, and amber-greece. 
I sing of Time's trans-shifting; and I write 
How roses first came red, and lilies white. 
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing 
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king. 
I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall) 
Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.