TO me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were placed by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, I slumber; here my clustering fruits I tend; Or from the humid flowers, at break of day, Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, O stranger, undismay'd. Nor bat, nor toad Here lurks; and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion; chiefly, if thy name Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS HIMALAYA by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG SONG OF THE FATHERLAND by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT THE DEPARTED by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE NEVADA by HELENA GRACE BRADLEY LYRIC by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE BERTHE AND FRANCESCA BRAGGIOTTI by JOSEPHINE V. BROWER EPITAPH ON NOISY POLEMIC (BURNS'S 'BLETH'RIN BITCH') by ROBERT BURNS |