Clorinda And Damon
Damon come drive thy flocks this way.
No : 'tis too late they went astray.
I have a grassy Scutcheon spy'd,
Where Flora blazons all her pride.
The grass I aim to feast thy Sheep :
The Flow'rs I for thy Temples keep.
Grass withers; and the Flow'rs too fade.
Seize the short Joyes then, ere they vade.
Seest thou that unfrequented Cave ?
But Virtue's Grave.
In whose cool bosome we may lye
Safe from the Sun.
Not Heaven's Eye.
Near this, a Fountaines liquid Bell
Tinkles within the concave Shell.
Might a Soul bath there and be clean,
Or slake its Drought?
What is 't you mean?
These once had been enticing things,
Clorinda, Pastures, Caves, and Springs.
And what late change?
The other day
Pan met me.
What did great Pan say?
Words that transcend poor Shepherds skill,
But he ere since my Songs does fill:
And his Name swells my slender Oate.
Sweet must Pan sound in Damons Note.
Clorinda's voice might make it sweet.
Who would not in Pan's Praises meet ?
Of Pan the flowry pastures sing,
Caves eccho and the Fountains ring.
Sing then while he doth us inspire;
For all the world is our Pan's Quire.
Andrew Marvell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Clorinda And Damon by Andrew Marvell )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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