THE girl who once, on Lydian heights, Around the sacred grove of pines, Would dance through whole tempestuous nights When no moon shines, Whose pipe of lotus featly blown Gave airs as shrill as Cotys' own, -- Who, crowned with buds of ivy dark, Three times drained deep with amorous lips The wine-fed bowl of willow bark, With silver tips, Nor sank, nor ceased, but shouted still Like some wild wind from hill to hill, -- She lies at last where poplars wave Their sad gray foliage all day long, The river murmurs near her grave A soothing song; Farewell, it saith! Her days have done With shouting at the set of sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDEA: TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS, INTRODUCTION by MICHAEL DRAYTON MY SWEET BROWN GAL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WILLIE AND HELEN by HEW AINSLIE THE OLD BUFFALO TRAIL by ISABEL ANDERSON ON LYDIA DISTRACTED; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES TRENCH NOMENCLATURE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN NOTWITHSTANDING by JAMES BUCKHAM |