Further in summer than the birds, pathetic from the grass
A minor nation celebrates its unobtrusive mass

No ordinance be seen, so gradual the grace

A gentle custom it becomes, enlarging loneliness

Antiquest felt at noon, when August burning low
Arise this spectral canticle, repose to typify

Remit as yet no grace, no furrow on the glow
Yet a druidic difference enhances nature now