TO me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were placed by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, I slumber; here my clustering fruits I tend; Or from the humid flowers, at break of day, Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, O stranger, undismay'd. Nor bat, nor toad Here lurks; and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion; chiefly, if thy name Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAPPER KAPLINSKI AT THE NORTH SIDE CUE CLUB by HAYDEN CARRUTH SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AN EXPLANATION by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SYMPHONIC STUDIES (AFTER ROBERT SCHUMANN) by EMMA LAZARUS THE GARDEN OF ADONIS by EMMA LAZARUS THE FAMILY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |