Green-cupped the acorn, ripened the pear, Grass, lily, jonquil sweeten the air; Tendrilled convolvulus softly doth clamber; To his Dame steps Sir Coney, with balm for her chamber; Cry echoes cry -- would my tongue could remember! Away on his errand, in secret, runs Joy, That wistful, naked, bud-ankleted boy. Though never a feather in shade is seen, Thin jargoning music wells out of the green. On high in those branches bird-glancings espy Foamed blue of ocean imbowled by the sky. There the lustrous-locked sun in chair sits a-flame, Illuming a region no sailor can name. . . . Thule? Atlantis? Arcadia?. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRULY GREAT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 92 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI LE MARAIS DU CYNGE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER CRYING, 'THALASSUS!' by JOSEPH AUSLANDER CAGNES; ON THE RIVIERA by MATHILDE BLIND THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: THIRD ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |