I've taught thee Love's sweet lesson o'er, A task that is not learn'd with tears: Was Sylvia e'er so blest before In her wild, solitary years? Then what does he deserve, the Youth, Who made her conn so dear a truth! Till now in silent vales to roam, Singing vain songs to heedless flowers, Or watch the dashing billows foam, Amid thy lonely myrtle bowers, To weave light crowns of various hue,- Were all the joys thy bosom knew. The wild bird, though most musical, Could not to thy sweet plaint reply; The streamlet, and the waterfall, Could only weep when thou did'st sigh! Thou could'st not change one dulcet word Either with billow, or with bird. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 27. LOVE, AND NEVER FEAR by THOMAS CAMPION THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE CHARLESTON by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL, FR. ROSALIND [ROSALYNDE] by THOMAS LODGE FESTE'S SONG (1), FR. TWELFTH NIGHT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ON THE COLLAR OF MRS. DINGLEY'S LAP-DOG by JONATHAN SWIFT ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON by ALFRED TENNYSON |