Where is, ah where! the citron bloom That threw its fragrance o'er my room? Where, white magnolia-cup entwined With pliant myrtle's ruddy rind? Julia, with you the flowers are gay, And cluster round the shortest day Little at Fiesole ye know Of holly, less of mistleto; Such as the Druid priest of yore To grim god-monsters grimly bore. Run: from her pouting infants call The musk-rose at our chapel-wall; Run, bring the violets up, that blow Along the banks of Africo; And tell them, every soul, they must Bend their coy heads and kiss my bust. Christmas is come: on such a day Give the best thoughts fair room for play, And all the Sabbath dance and sing In honour of your new-born king. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO LOVE by JOHN DONNE SONNET TO MRS. REYNOLD'S CAT by JOHN KEATS ILICET by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE VIKING by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY MISTRESS FATE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |