"though from off the boughs each morn
We brush mellifluous dews;"
and _Arcades_, 50:
"And from the boughs brush off the evil dew."
Wakefield quotes Thomson, _Spring_, 103:
"Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops
From the bent brush, as through the verdant maze
Of sweetbrier hedges I pursue my walk."