Ye, who in alleys green and leafy bowers, Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth; Where frolic nymphs, and shaggy tribes of mirth, In clamorous revels waste the midnight hours; Who, linked in flaunting bands of mountain flowers, Weave your wild mazes o'er the dewy earth, Ere the fierce Lord of Luster rushes forth, And o'er the world his beamy radiance pours! Oft has your clanking cymbal's maddening strain, Loud ringing through the torch-illumined grove, Lured my loved Phaon from the youthful train, Through rugged dells, o'er craggy rocks to rove; Then how can she his vagrant heart detain, Whose Lyre throbs only to the touch of Love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ONCE BEFORE by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE EVENING HYMN by REGINALD HEBER NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: THE LETTER by ALFRED TENNYSON |