On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
In the bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That did ever eye behold.
It is Phyllis fair and bright,
She that is the shepherds' joy;
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
This is she, the wise, the rich,
That the world desires to see;
This is ipsa quae the which
There is none but only she.
Who would not this face admire?
Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
Though he thought to see no more?
O fair eyes! yet let me see
One good look, and I am gone;
Look on me, for I am he,
Thy poor silly Corydon.
Thou that art the shepherds' queen,
Look upon thy silly swain;
By thy comfort have been seen
Dead men brought to life again.
Make him live that, dying long,
Never durst for comfort seek:
Thou shalt hear so sweet a song
Never shepherd sung the like.
Nicholas Breton's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Pastoral by Nicholas Breton )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
- In search of a war, SALINI NAIR
- Feelings! - sonnet-, Manjeshwari P MYSORE
- Lady Purities, L.B. Temuco
- Charge Of Acidity, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Deserts Of Beginning Times, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Excuse Him, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Lost Love, Michael ValadaoMartins
- It's muddy around, SALINI NAIR
- I am patient, Charity Nduhiu
- Lighting Quick Ideas, RoseAnn V. Shawiak