I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
Quite overcanopied with lush woodbine,
With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.