Belovéd sweat, the best of all the dews,
which, pouring from the crown to drench the face,
transports the weak man from his sullen place,
and acts as pure refreshment for his muse.
For just as floods from heaven seek (and find)
the waiting earth, the thirsty grass to drench,
so you full-soak the heart at lifting-bench,
and grow the crop of man’s voracious mind.
As soldiers say, your flow announces well
that weakness now is taking leave of me;
as rivers, burst from mountains, make the sea,
so you, improvement of the man, do tell.
At break of dawn, what joy it is to pour
this dew by toil, and bathe upon its shore.

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