Poetry Archives

Sweet are the hours when roseate spring
  With health and joy salutes the day.
When zephyr, borne on wanton wing,
  Soft whispering, wakes the blushing May.
Sweet are the hours, yet not so sweet
As when my blue-eyed Maid I meet,
And hear her soul-entrancing tale,
Sequester’d in the shadowy vale.

The mellow horn’s long-echoing notes
  Startle the morn, commingling strong;
At eve, the harp’s wild music floats.
  And ravish’d Silence drinks the song.
Yet sweeter is the song of love,
When EMMA’S voice enchants the grove,
While listening sylphs repeat the tale,
Sequester’d in the silent vale.