Freshly he rose in the morning— 
Dug in the sand by the flower, 
And a bright fountain up-sparkled, 
Welling with bubbling shower: 
Over the sands as it murmured, 
Green sprung the grass by its side; 
Round it a garden soon blossomed, 
Fed by its life-giving tide. 
'fhere, too, a wild vine up-started; 
Under its shelter he dwelt: 
Morning and evening, yet ever 
Low by the rose-bush he knelt. 
So in the far waste forgotten, 
Still flowed his pure life along, 
Soothed by the rose-blossom/s fragrance, 
Charmed by the nightingale’s song. 
