Spring's dewy hand on this fair summit weaves The downy grass with tufts of Alpine flowers: And shades the beechen slopes with tender leaves, And leads the shepherd to his upland bowers, Strewn with wild thyme; while slow-descending showers Feed the green ear, and nurse the future sheaves! -- Ah! blest the hind -- whom no sad thought bereaves Of the gay season's pleasures! -- All his hours To wholesome labour given, or thoughtless mirth; No pangs of sorrow past, or coming dread, Bend his unconscious spirit down to earth, Or chase calm slumbers from his careless head! Ah! what to me can those dear days restore, When scenes could charm that now I taste no more! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS FOR THE PEOPLE by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE PILGRIM FATHERS by JOHN PIERPONT SONNET: 9. TO THE RIVER LODON by THOMAS WARTON THE YOUNGER THE APPROACH OF LOVE by LOUIS ARAGON THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY |