COME, my Sylvia, let us rove To that secret silent grove, Where the painted birds agree To tune their throats for you and me. We will foot it in the shade Of ev'ry dappled, dancing glade, Till Ob'ron and his fairy train Shall shout for joy and swear amain: Such form as thine was never seen Sporting o'er the velvet green. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COLD NIGHT by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SEA-BIRDS by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN CANCIONEROS: 2 by CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO THE RESPECTABLE BURGHER, ON 'THE HIGHER CRITICISM' by THOMAS HARDY I AM NOT YOURS by SARA TEASDALE THE BURIAL-MARCH OF THE DUNDEE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |