Edward Elgar - The Fountain, Op. 71, No. 2 - текст песни (слова)

The unthrift sun shot vital gold,
 A thousand, thousand pieces;
 And heav'n its azure did unfold
 Chequer'd with snowy fleeces;
 The air was all in spice,
 And ev'ry bush
 A garland wore:
 Thus fed my eyes,
 But all the earth lay hush,
 Only a little fountain lent
 Some use for ears,
 And on the dumb shades language spent,
 The music of her tears.