BEHOLD yon' hill, how it is swell'd with pride, And that aspiring oak upon its side, With how much scorn they overlook the plain, Proud of the lovely guest they entertain. See with what haste those crystal springs do flow, T' incorporate with the silver brook below; There does my wanton Cynthia sporting stand, Printing her footsteps on the yielding sand. Look, Thyrsis, how she fills with joy the place, She bathes her feet, and views her angel's face; Sure I've a rival of that amorous hill, And those are streams of tears which thence distil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOSTON ATHENAEUM by AMY LOWELL TO HIS MISTRESS by ABRAHAM COWLEY FOR A DEAD LADY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR THE TRANSFORMATION OF A TEXAS GIRL by JAMES BARTON ADAMS |