HOW fondly still the Grecian form, Young, swift and warm Is homing here; Among our British commonwealth Of farmyard habit, meadow health, And holt and mere! When morn discerns our lawny green, Daphne is seen Weeping and wild, Till wiser Phoebus travelling there Caresses music from her hair With honour mild. The brook below the floodgate swirls For Naiad girls To talk and play, And there though chance some labouring-man Part the dense boughs to dip his can They dance all day. We see our black-faced sheep anon All stare as one At thickets nigh, And almost catch the horned and rude Woodgod at gaze ere satyr-shrewd He dodges by. Be apt, lest even while you come From market-hum And county trade, Yon whistling lad should @3Mercury@1 be And those fine shorthorns, without fee By him conveyed! The country year's an Orpheus tune, In joyous June All courting dreams, Till with cold lips and blue he roves Half-lost by wintry pits and groves And hoarse grey streams. For Persephassa then our eyes With tired surmise Search thorned wet haze; Then there she smiles a-primrosing Where the flags fly and steeples ring In Easter rays! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WAR IS KIND: 12 by STEPHEN CRANE THE HOLY SCRIPTURES (1) by GEORGE HERBERT TO DIANEME (1) by ROBERT HERRICK THE JEWISH MARTYRS by W. V. B. LILIES: 16. MY GIFT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 10 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |