Here, in cool grot and mossy cell, We rural fays and fairies dwell; Though rarely seen by mortal eye, When the pale moon, ascending high, Darts through yon limes her quivering beams, We frisk it near these crystal streams. Her beams, reflected from the wave, Afford the light our revels crave; The turf, with daisies broidered o'er, Exceeds, we wot, the Parian floor; Nor yet for artful strains we call, But listen to the water's fall. Would you then taste our tranquil scene, Be sure your bosoms be serene; Devoid of hate, devoid of strife, Devoid of all that poisons life: And much it 'vails you in their place, To graft the love of human race. And tread with awe these favored bowers, Nor would the shrubs, nor bruise the flowers; So may your path with sweets abound; So may your couch with rest be crowned! But harm betide the wayward swain, Who dares our hallowed haunts profane! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FALL OF HYPERION; A DREAM by JOHN KEATS THE CASE OF ALBERT IRVING WILLIAMSON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 1. AIR by JOHN ARMSTRONG BOTHWELL: PART 5 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN LEISURE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AN ELEGY ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF THOMAS AYLEWORTH, SLAIN AT CROYDON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: SEE-SAW by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |