The grass mid sheen when wat'ry beaeds
O' dew do glitter on the meaeds,
An' thorns be bright when quiv'ren studs
O' rain do hang upon their buds—
As jewels be a-meaede by art
To zet the plainest vo'k off smart.
But sheaeken ivy on its tree,
An' low-bough'd laurel at our knee,
Be bright all day, without the gleaere,
O' drops that duller leaeves mid weaer—
As Jeaene is feaeir to look upon
In plainest gear that she can don.