Why knows the nightingale to sing?
Why flows the pine's nectareous juice?
Why shines with paint the linnet's wing?
For sustenance alone? for use?
For preservation? Every sphere
Shall bid fair  rightful claim appear.
And sure there seem, of  kind,
born to shun the solemn strife;
Some for  tasks design'd,
To soothe the certain ills of life;
Grace it's lone vales with many a budding rose,
New founts of bliss disclose,
Call forth refreshing shades, and decorate repose.