COME, my Sylvia, let us rove To that secret silent grove, Where the painted birds agree To tune their throats for you and me. We will foot it in the shade Of ev'ry dappled, dancing glade, Till Ob'ron and his fairy train Shall shout for joy and swear amain: Such form as thine was never seen Sporting o'er the velvet green. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN CITY VIGNETTE: DAWN by SARA TEASDALE THE GREAT LOVER by RUPERT BROOKE JEWISH HYMN IN BABYLON by HENRY HART MILMAN SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE ON A MOURNER by ALFRED TENNYSON |