TURN, Amaryllis, to thy swain, Thy Damon calls thee back again, Here is a pretty arbour by Where Apollo cannot spy, There let's sit and, whilst I play, Sing to my pipe a roundelay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FINE DAY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FLUTE-PRIEST SONG FOR RAIN; CEREMONIAL AT THE SUN SPRING by AMY LOWELL TO AN EARLY DAFFODIL; SONNET by AMY LOWELL ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TOM MERRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOCTOR OF BILLIARDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MANOKWARI, IRIAN JAYA; IN MEMORIAM, ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE by KAREN SWENSON |