DEAR is my little native vale: The ringdove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, And shells his nuts at liberty. In orange groves and myrtle bowers, That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave For those that win the race at eve. The shepherd's horn at break of day, The ballet danced in twilight glade, The canzonet and roundelay Sung in the silent greenwood shade; These simple joys, that never fail, Shall bind me to my native vale! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHANNON AND THE CHESAPEAKE [JUNE 1, 1813] by THOMAS TRACY BOUVE GROWN-UP by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TO THE LEANAN SIDHE (FAIRY MUSE) by THOMAS BOYD ANNE HATHAWAY'S GARDEN by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR WOMANLY NOBLESSE; BALADE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |