Oh, for a breath of spicy woodland air, The healing balsam of the odorous pine, To thrill my nerveless pulse like beaded wine! Oh, for some sylvan Hebe to prepare For me the nectared cups of mosses rare Till quickened sense shall catch the merry shine Of hidden wood nymph's eyes that flash on mine 'Tween waving tresses of the maidenhair! Oh, for a...Learn More