You virgins, that did late despair To keep your wealth from cruel men, Tie up in silk your careless hair: Soft peace is come again. Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot A flame that will not kill; The drum was angry, but the lute Shall whisper what you will. Sing Io, Io! for his sake That hath restored your drooping heads; With choice of sweetest flowers make A garden where he treads; Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, A petty triumph for his brow, Who is the master of our spring And all the bloom we owe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED by HENRY HOWARD THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S FASTING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MONDAY'S CHILD by MOTHER GOOSE EPITAPHIUM CITHARISTRIAE by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR LUCY (5) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH IMMORTALIA NE SPERES by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THE LONE BUTTE by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE IMPROVISATORE: RODOLPH THE WILD by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |