Down the dimpled greensward dancing, Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy,— Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing, Love’s irregular little levy. Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, How they glimmer, how they quiver! Sparkling one another after, Like bright ripples on a river. Tipsy band of rubious faces, Flushed with Joy’s ethereal spirit, Make your mocks and sly grimaces At Love’s self, and do not fear it.
Up the dale and down the bourne, O’er the meadow swift we fly; Now we sing, and now we mourn, Now we whistle, now we sigh. By the grassy-fringèd river, Through the murmuring reeds we sweep; Mid the lily-leaves we quiver, To their very hearts we creep. Now the maiden rose is blushing At...
It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon’s despair, Nor the snow’s daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid’s yellow pride of hair: Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed,— A...
Down the dimpled greensward dancing, Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy,— Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing, Love’s irregular little levy. Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, How they glimmer, how they quiver! Sparkling one another after, Like bright ripples on a river. Tipsy band of rubious faces...
