Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
Abraham Cowley (1772). “Select works of mr. A. Cowley [ed. by R. Hurd].”, p.148
